


Finding Haven

by neymovirne



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Domesticity, Drug Addiction, EWE, First Time, Fluff and Angst, Getting Together, Grief/Mourning, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Number Twelve Grimmauld Place, Romance, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-19
Updated: 2019-06-19
Packaged: 2020-05-14 23:32:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 23,239
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19283440
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/neymovirne/pseuds/neymovirne
Summary: After hearing some disturbing news about Severus Snape, Harry charges to the rescue in a classic Potter fashion.





	Finding Haven

**Author's Note:**

> Many thanks to wonderful xenre, who beta'ed this fic for me.

They called it _The Haven_. Outside, it was an abandoned Muggle warehouse, a grey monolithic box surrounded by an assortment of metal junk and rusty containers on the patched pavement. An unlikely passerby would not spare it even half a glance, in a hurry to leave this bleak place on the outskirts of London. Of course, part of it was because of the heavy Notice-Me-Not charms woven into the perimeter, along with a wide range of protective wards. Even though most of them were no longer needed, _The Haven_ was still ready to turn its walls into the impenetrable and unseen sanctuary it used to be not long ago.

So when Harry Potter appeared in front of the heavy metal doors out of thin air, nobody other than a rather bedraggled crow was there to greet him. It cawed mockingly as he landed in a puddle, swearing under his breath.

“Shut up,” Harry said to the crow, staring at his wet jeans morosely. “I hate Apparition.”

After a moment of hesitation, he strode to the door and opened it. A wave of sound and colours assaulted his senses, right before somebody took him by the hand and dragged inside.

“Harry, old man!” Seamus Finnigan shouted in Harry’s ear over the blasting music, throwing an arm around his shoulders. “Long time, no see!”

“Hullo, Seamus.” Harry stepped away awkwardly. He always found it difficult to be around so many people at once, especially people stepping into his personal space, but it got much worse after the end of the war.

“C’mon, Dean has finished the Northern wall, you really need to see it!” Seamus said, dragging Harry through the mass of writhing bodies dancing to the music under the strobe lights.

The walls, parts of the floor and even the ceiling were covered in paintings and graffiti, some as simple as a name or list of Potterwatch radio frequencies written in a chicken scrawl, some as complex as a giant triptych depicting the Battle of Hogwarts, with faceless demon-like Voldemort, Neville slaying giant Nagini like a vengeful St. George, and Harry himself, looking much more impressive and confident with his wand held high than he actually was the day he went to the Forbidden Forest to die. Harry stifled a sigh as he looked at the wind-blown hair and blazing eyes of his counterpart and ducked his head. This was another reason he preferred to avoid this place.

Perched on a floating stool, Dean Thomas was painting a phoenix soaring up to the ceiling. Under the fiery creature, a couple of life-sized thestrals were circling around each other, slowly fading away and appearing again on the wall. Harry watched their black leathery wings going up and down, mesmerised.

“I’m experimenting with animation spells,” Dean said, hopping down from the stool. “Couldn’t get their nostrils to twitch right for two days, stubborn buggers.”

The nearest thestral cast him an evil eye, puffing its nose soundlessly.

“This is really amazing, Dean,” Harry said earnestly. He supposed it shouldn’t have been surprising since Dean used to doodle on every spare piece of parchment that got into his hands, including his textbooks and even homework, to the varying amusement of their Professors. Dean was obviously a very talented artist, and Harry felt vaguely ashamed not to notice that before.

“Thanks, mate.” Dean flashed him a pleased smile. “This is a special place for me, for all of us, so I want it to be perfect.”

Harry knew that before getting captured by Snatchers, Dean used to hide here, like many other Muggleborns, Half-bloods, creatures, and other fugitives during the Voldemort reign. Before it was turned into a place of nightly celebration with the end of the war, _The Haven_ was the biggest outposts of resistance outside Hogwarts.

“What are you doing here, anyway?” Seamus asked. “I thought you said it was too crowded for you here.”

“I’m looking for—” Harry took a crumpled piece of parchment from his pocket. “Ornella Morris. Do you know her, by any chance?”

“Or— Oh, you mean Nella. Of course, I do.” Dean looked at Harry curiously. “What’s that about?”

“I’m not sure yet. Just hope she’s not a reporter, delusional fan or a disgruntled citizen who decided to trick me into meeting with her,” Harry said, frowning. He chucked most of his post into the fireplace without reading, but that particular note grabbed his attention. Hermione would have chided him for his recklessness and ‘saving people thing’, but she and Ron were away in Australia to restore her parents’ memories, so there was nobody to stop him coming here tonight.

“Nah, that’s not our Nella. I’ve seen her saving a werewolf’s life when she knew his transformation is only a couple of minutes away, and I know she risked her life to help smuggle pre-school Muggleborns abroad. If she wrote to you at all, she means business,” Dean said. “She is usually up there with Janus, our tattoo artist.” He pointed to a stairway. “You won’t miss that one!”

“Thanks, Dean. See you later, guys!”

Harry went up the stairs to the second level that ran along one of the walls, half-hidden behind the solid railing. The floor was cluttered with boxes and crates. There were colourful packages from Weasley Wizard Wheezes, empty bottles and even toy-sized, probably shrunk, furniture scattered on the long metal table.

Janus was definitely hard to miss. Only slightly shorter than Hagrid, with shoulders just as broad, he hunched over a girl in a reclining chair like a bear over a terrified rabbit. Every inch of his bare skin was covered in tattoos, up to the back of his shaved head that had a face on it. Its eyes were firmly shut, but Harry could have sworn that one of them cracked open for a moment. He shuddered, uncomfortably reminded of Quirrel.

The girl in the chair gaped at him. “Hey, aren’t you—”

“Mr. Potter, thank you for agreeing to meet me here,” said a formal voice behind Harry, making him spin around. A black-haired woman in lime-green Healer robes, incongruous with the setting, studied him appraisingly.

“Um, hello. So, you are—”

“Nella Morris. Let’s speak here, please.”

Gesturing Harry to follow her, she moved further along the balcony and leaned against the railing. She took out her wand, making his fingers itch for his own, hidden safely in his sleeve, but the charm she cast only muffled the music and voices below.

“I’ve read about your defence of Professor Snape in the Prophet,” Nella said after a pause. “I wanted to know if you were sincere there. After all, it’s a well-known fact that you two couldn’t stand each other.”

“Of course I was,” Harry said, indignation creeping into his voice. Who she thought she was to question his sincerity? “Yes, we had our differences, but the war, the fight against Voldemort was bigger than me or him, bigger than any of us. He’s a complete bastard, sure, but he’s also the bravest man I know, and we would never have won without him.”

He still had trouble to reconcile all the different facets of Severus Snape in his mind, the mean teacher, Dumbledore’s murderer, war hero, his Mum’s childhood friend. His former Professor was many things but a simple man he was not. However, these were not thoughts he particularly wanted to share with a stranger, even someone praised so highly by Dean and Seamus.

“Now, if you are quite finished questioning me—”

“Wait! I needed to be sure,” Nella hurried to say as Harry prepared to leave.

“Sure?”

“I owe a lot to Severus Snape. He helped me through my years at Hogwarts, when nobody was there for me. I left my primary school where I was bullied for the colour of my skin, hopeful for this new magical world waiting for me. Only to be bullied again, now for my lack of wizarding heritage. After the first month in Hogwarts, I was ready to give up and go back to my old Muggle school. If not for my Head of the House, I would have.”

Helpful Head of the House. This was yet another side of Severus Snape he knew nothing about.

“He couldn’t stop all the pureblood stiff-necks running their mouths, of course, but he helped me deal with them and to succeed where all of them wanted to see me fail,” Nella continued. “He tutored me for my N.E.W.T.s, because for a Muggleborn to get accepted into a Healer programme, you have to be not just good, but exceptional.” She let out a mirthless laugh. “It will be even worse now, because many muggle-borns and half-bloods from the staff didn’t return after the war. And those who did won’t have an easy time getting their old positions back, you mark my words.”

Harry looked at her, startled. He had never considered that, but what she said made disturbing amount of sense.

Nella shook her head, curly hair falling into her eyes as she trained them at the people on the dance floor below. “In the beginning of last year, Professor Snape contacted me and urged to go into hiding, several times. I didn’t until the summer, and it was a close call.” She tensed for a moment. “He brought me injured and cursed, and he brought potions for them that year, all those people he couldn’t march to the St. Mungo’s lobby with. I could never fully believe he was Voldemort’s faithful bootlicker, not even after Dumbledore.”

She wasn’t afraid of Voldemort’s name, Harry noticed with a pleasant surprise.

“He wasn’t,” he said softly.

“No, he wasn’t, was he? But they want to cart him in Azkaban anyway.”

“What?!” Harry gaped at her.

“I’m one of the Healers in his ward. They’ve had an Auror at his door for a while. Now that he regained consciousness, they want to take him in. I told them he is too weak to be transported anywhere, let alone prison, even if there are no Dementors there anymore. But I’m afraid they are going to do that any day now.”

“I—thank you for warning me,” Harry said. He talked to the Prophet, the Quibbler, and Kingsley, thinking it would be enough. Evidently not. Kingsley wasn’t too happy with him testifying for Draco and Narcissa, but Harry was sure they were on the same page regarding Snape. The interim Minister for Magic didn’t say anything about Azkaban all those times he tried to talk Harry into joining the Auror programme for the coming September. “I’ll deal with it tomorrow,” he said resolutely.

* * *

For the last couple of days, Severus drifted in and out of consciousness, unable to stay awake for more than an hour. Every part of his body felt like it had been trampled by an angry hippogriff, and the less was said about the mess that was his throat, the better.  He still hadn’t gotten the daily dose of his potions, and while even the idea of moving brought physical pain, his head was finally, somewhat, clear.

Or at least Severus thought so until the door opened, making him doubt the clarity of his mind. Standing there and arguing with some Auror, was none other than Harry bloody Potter.

When Miss Morris told him of the Dark Lord’s defeat, he naturally assumed that Potter was dead as well. The thought filled him with all-too-familiar guilt and bitterness. He failed Lily once again, broke another promise. But here he was, clinging to his miserable life when the last remnant of hers was no more.

And yet Potter was standing in the doorway with his best James Potter expression, talking down to an Auror twice his age. The actual words were muffled, but Severus would recognise that arrogant tone of voice anywhere.

He gritted his teeth. Did that mean that Potter defied all odds once more, as he was wont to do, and survived the Horcrux in his head? Or was the Dark Lord once again reduced to a disembodied spirit lurking in wait?

Wincing at the reminder of how painful even the smallest movement was, Severus surreptitiously freed his left hand from the blanket and peered at it. The Dark Mark was faded and lifeless, like a Muggle tattoo after a botched removal attempt, the way it had never been after that damned Halloween.

Potter came into the room, leaving the flustered Auror outside to scramble somewhere.

“Um, hello,” he said, tugging a strand of his obnoxious hair and fidgeting from foot to foot.

Severus attempted to sneer, although it probably came across as a pained wince.

“Listen, Professor, there’s a lot I’d like to talk about, but we don’t really have much time right now. You see, they are going to send you to Azkaban tomorrow.”

Sticky coldness settled in Severus’s stomach. Of course. It’s not as if he expected anything different.

“Came to gloat, Potter?” he rasped.

“What? No!” Potter finally stood stock still, glaring indignantly. “Why would you even—Right. Anyway, your guar—I mean, the Auror at your door will return soon, so we must be out of the building by then. Can you stand?”

Severus stared at Potter with incomprehension.

“We really, really need to hurry.” Potter sounded agitated and… sincere? “I know you don’t have many reasons to trust me, but—”

There was always a possibility that Potter would lead him to some trap in a bid of revenge. If Severus was honest with himself, though, he would rather take his chances with the boy over a definite future as Dementors’ food. He had had that experience once after the end of the first war and was not going to indulge in wishful thinking. His prospects of surviving another stint at Azkaban in his current condition were nil.

“Fine,” Severus said, interrupting Potter’s prattling, and pulled the blanket off. He shrugged off Potter’s hand trying to help him sit up—did the infernal spawn think he was a complete invalid?—but his vision turned black at the edges when he finally stood up. Temporarily conceding defeat, Severus steadied himself against Potter. When did the brat manage to grow up almost to his own height? Surreptitiously leaning against a surprisingly strong shoulder, Severus tried his best glare and staggered forward. His legs were wobbly and unsteady, and his body felt uncooperative when he tried to draw himself to his full height.

“Easy now,” Potter said, carefully directing Severus through the door.

Only knife-like pain in his throat prevented Severus from saying a few choice words about Potter’s tone. If looks could kill, the precious Golden Boy would drop dead there and then, Azkaban or not.

Potter took out his wand and pointed it at Severus. A moment of blind panic rolled over him, wandless and vulnerable in the dead-end of the dark corridor, but Potter only transfigured his hospital gown into a lumpy black robe. The fabric was still thin cotton, and one of the sleeves was considerably longer than the other.

“Your… Transfiguration skills… are… shite, Potter.”

Potter had the gall to laugh.

An ancient witch with a cane shuffled past them, throwing curious glances. She opened her mouth to say something and closed it again, discouraged by Severus’s poisonous glare. To his relief, the floor seemed otherwise deserted. When they were half-way down the corridor, one of the doors opened. Healer Morris faltered in her steps for a moment before running to them and taking Severus by his other arm.

“This way, you can use the fireplace in my office,” she said in a hushed voice. “I hoped you would manage to forego daring escapes. He needs strict bed rest, and this is far too much stress on his body.”

“He is… right here,” Severus rasped.

“Try not to talk, sir, it’s really inadvisable for your condition,” Miss Morris said in a distracted manner as she veered them into her office and shut the door with a flick of her wand.

Potter thrust a piece of parchment into her hand. “This is my address. Could you please, maybe—”

“Yes, yes, I’ll come to see the Professor after the end of my shift. Now go.” She nudged them towards the fireplace.

“Burn it after memorising,” Potter added before shouting over Severus’s ear, “Number 12 Grimmauld Place!”

Together they spun in a vomit-inducing journey through the green fire. Severus closed his eyes and opened them only after the fireplace belched him in the familiar doxy-ridden drawing-room. He felt his legs give out and strong hands catch him before the world went black.

* * *

Filled with sudden dread, Severus found himself looking into the vacant eyes of Bellatrix Lestrange. After a moment of fumbling for a wand that he knew was not there, Severus got over his initial blind panic enough to really look at the woman. Her dishevelled hair was slightly lighter than the coal-black locks he expected to see, and a pair of yellow fluffy slippers was peeking incongruously from the flowing dark robes. The biggest difference, however, was her eyes. Even after Azkaban, Bella’s eyes were full of fire. Yes, it was mostly the fire of madness, but also of determination. The eyes staring at him right now so dispassionately could very well belong to a victim of the Dementor’s Kiss.

“Andromeda, dinner is almost ready, do you want some?” Potter appeared at the bottom of the stairs, unfazed by the apparition, with a baby in his arms. A blue-haired baby. Severus wondered if he was still lying on the dirty floor of the Shrieking Shack with Nagini’s venom sinking into his throat, and all of this was just a fever dream of his dying mind.

“Professor, you shouldn’t be up yet!” Potter exclaimed, running up to him. The baby opened its mouth and let out a piercing wail, its hair changing to flaming red. Directing his attention away from Severus, Potter started rocking and shushing it frantically.

With a loud crack, a familiar house-elf appeared in front of them.

“Master should be giving the young Master to Kreacher,” he said, smoothing out the hem of a white pillowcase with a Black family crest he was wearing.

“Thank you, Kreacher, but I’ve got everything under control. I think Teddy just needs a new nappy, and I—” Potter was babbling, true to his nature. Well, at least there was one familiar thing in this sea of insanity.

“Master should be giving the young Master to Kreacher,” Kreacher repeated sternly. “Master can go attend to the Master’s guest, and Kreacher will look after the young Master.” The house-elf cast Severus an unimpressed glare.

“Thank you.” Potter sighed tiredly and handed the baby to Kreacher. “I’ll be in the kitchen soon.”

“The kitchen is not the place for the Master,” Kreacher grumbled under his breath before vanishing with a loud pop.

The Bellatrix lookalike jolted, dull expression awakening for a second before her shoulders slumped again and she turned away to disappear behind the nearest door.

Potter’s lips pursed as he watched her go. Shaking his head, he turned to Severus, a scowl crossing his features before settling briefly into a faltering and incredibly fake smile. It was a pathetic attempt, of course, but Severus was more surprised that he warranted it at all. He still didn’t know Potter’s intentions for bringing him here. Did he want anything from him? Revenge, eternal gratitude, illegal potions, tales of his mother? If the boy thought they would be best friends now that the war is over, Severus needed to disabuse him of that notion as soon as possible. Right after he figured out what the hell was going on.

The corridor swam dangerously and Severus clutched the rails at the top of the stairs. A second later, Potter was at his side.

“We need to get you back to bed, Professor. Healer Morris will be very cross with me,” he said, directing Severus back to the room with a four-poster bed and an assortment of Slytherin paraphernalia where Severus had awoken earlier. “I put you into Regulus’s old room. I hope you don’t mind.”

The room was much better than a dusty guest bedroom with a boggart in the closet where Severus spent the night now and again back in the Order days. _Merlin, they seemed like yesterday, and yet in another lifetime_ , Severus thought resolutely, walking inside with slow, measured steps. He shivered in his flimsy hospital gown, feeling very exposed all the sudden.

“Kreacher made mashed potatoes, I hope they’ll be fine. For your throat, I mean. You probably shouldn't eat anything solid yet.” There was that artificial cheer again. Potter was actually fluffing his pillow. Severus intended to strangle him as soon as he regained enough strength. He definitely intended to ignore the warm feeling in his stomach. It was probably rebelling against the idea of mashed potatoes already.

“Stop… mothering me, Potter,” he said, letting Potter pull the blanket over him. Each word felt like a knife in his throat. Still, there was a lot he needed to know. And starting with the most pressing issue… “Managed to… procreate already?”

Potter had a confused expression for a moment but then waved his hands. “Oh no, Teddy's not mine. He’s my godson, though, and Andromeda can’t cope by herself, well, you’ve seen how she is. Some days are better, but—” He swallowed, hiding his eyes. “Teddy is Tonks and Remus’s child. I don’t know how much you know already, but they… They didn’t make it.”

Severus closed his eyes. Remus Lupin, the last of his schoolyard tormentors, dead. Severus officially outlived all the Marauders. He expected this thought to bring him if not joy, then at least satisfaction, but it didn’t. Instead, he felt empty and numb. The smiling face of Nymphadora Tonks flickered in his mind, slipping past his weakened Occlumency shields. The eleven-year-old cheerfully putting away the Sorting Hat, her hair turning yellow and black to the cheers of her new House. Teenage girl stirring the potion in her cauldron, brow scrunched in concentration. A young woman winking at him cheekily at her graduation. Always so vibrant, full of life and potential, questionable taste in men notwithstanding. She was one of the few Order members who didn’t despise him, even though Black did his best to poison his cousin against Severus. Black was dead now, too.

“Who else?” Severus rasped, opening his eyes again.

“Fred Weasley. Lavender Brown. Colin Creevey. Crabbe. I’ll bring you back issues of the Prophet, there’s a full list. _Fallen Fifty_ , they call it.”

“The Dark Lord? Is he… gone for good?” Severus was sure now that he did, but the question bore asking.

Potter looked at him, startled. “Yes, of course. This time, the bastard is truly dead.”

Severus’s eyes flickered to Potter’s forehead questioningly.

Potter brushed his hair aside, revealing his lightning-bolt scar, now pale and faded.

“I let him cast the Killing Curse on me, but it only killed the Horcrux in my scar, while I was given a choice. To go forward or to return,” he said it like it was the most obvious thing in the world. Like it was any kind of explanation.

A loud cry interrupted them, and Potter hopped to his feet.

“I’ll go get Teddy. I don’t usually leave him for Kreacher like that,” he said in an apologetic tone. Severus couldn’t fathom why Potter would apologise for that, and to him, no less.

Potter rubbed his hand over his face. There were dark circles behind those stupid glasses.

“Go. I’m tired and need some sleep.” Severus closed his eyes deliberately.

He didn’t open them even after hearing the door close, actually falling into a fitful sleep instead. He saw a young Lily, sending him a warm smile over her shoulder before getting into the back seat of the old grey Rover her father used to drive. Severus tried to call her, but no words came out of his mouth, and the car slowly disappeared in the clouds of dust down the main Cokeworth road.

* * *

Harry was playing with Teddy when the Floo flared and Nella Morris stepped out, looking around curiously.

“Not quite the decor I expected to see in your home, if you don’t mind me saying, Mr. Potter.”

“Please call me Harry,” he said, directing her to the armchair with striped green upholstery that had seen better days. “I inherited this house from my godfather. Needless to say, I’m planning to redecorate.”

Teddy chose this moment to sneeze and change his hair from dark brown to turquoise. Nella gasped and her face softened.

“Is this Dora’s son? Ted?”

Harry looked at her in surprise. “Yes, this is Teddy, Nymphadora Tonks and Remus Lupin’s son. Did you know them?”

“Know them? I delivered this little one here!” Nella said with a fond smile. At Harry’s shocked expression, she elaborated. “Dora was in my year, but we weren’t friends, not then. Not until the year after we graduated, when she was in her Auror training and landed in my ward in St. Mungo’s. Stumbled in the potions lab they were busting and got showered with a dozen illegal potions.”

“That’s our Tonks.”

“I would never understand how she passed her tests with that perpetual clumsiness of hers, though she was a damn good Auror.” Her face fell. “She never let her spirits down, even when she was on the run this horrible year. It’s so unfair—” She blinked rapidly and shook her head. “She said you were a good kid, though she refused to say how exactly she knew you. Was it that Order of yours?”

Harry’s chest constricted almost painfully, with sadness, but also warmth. “Yes, Tonks was a part of the Order of the Phoenix, same as Remus. I actually met her here for the first time, in this house. It used to serve as a Headquarters. I didn’t know she talked about me, though.”

“Oh, she did,” Nella smiled wistfully. “So, do you babysit Teddy often? They made you his godfather, right?”

“Yes, I’m his godfather. Teddy and Andromeda actually live here for the moment.”

Nella looked like she wanted to say something, but then reconsidered.

“Mrs. Tonks isn’t faring so well, is she?” She asked instead, more of a statement than a question.

Harry thought about that almost disrespectfully sunny morning of the funeral, when Andromeda just stood there, staring at the grave with unseeing eyes, paying no mind to the baby wailing in her arms. How she came to life and swore to curse him out of existence when he tried to approach her about Teddy. How he tracked Andromeda to her house later, and how it was a war zone, with her sitting on the kitchen floor, still in the clothes she wore two days ago at the graveyard. How he finally convinced her to stay at Grimmauld Place, convinced her he wasn’t going to take her grandson away. How she sank deeper and deeper into the numb silence ever since, and he didn’t know what to do, what to say, whether there even were any words to soothe the soul of the woman who lost her husband and her only child.

“No. No, she isn’t.”

For a minute, they just looked at Teddy, now sleeping in the ancient crib Kreacher produced somewhere from the depths of the attic. He still hadn’t forgiven Harry for making him change the colour from black to cheerful blue and getting rid of intricate carvings of spiders and snakes it was covered with.

“So not only have you suddenly found yourself in care of a baby, you have an injured Potions Professor here too?” Nella said, finally breaking the silence.

“Well, you yourself said that he’s in grave danger, so I had to act quickly. What did you expect me to do?” Harry crossed his arms over his chest defensively.

“Talk with Shacklebolt? Do another interview? I certainly didn’t expect a daring rescue, that’s for sure.” She huffed. “Don’t give me that face, I meant it as a compliment. You did exceed my expectations. And seeing the aftermath today, a daring rescue was probably the only solution.”

“Aftermath?”

“The place was swarmed with Aurors.” Her expression showed exactly what she thought about them. “But since there were no official orders, everyone tried to push the blame on everyone else and couldn’t decide if they wanted to raise a stink or not after all. Your name came up a lot.”

“Typical.” Harry snorted. “But I don’t want you to lose your job over this, so if anyone asks, feel free to blame it all on me.”

“I’m not afraid of that. It would take much more than a bunch of idiots who wouldn’t know their own arse from a cauldron to intimidate me, but thank you for your concern,” Nella said, her voice laced with irony. “I’m more worried about the Professor now. Do you plan for him to stay here?”

“Yeah. Unless he decides to leave, of course, which I suspect he will as soon as he can stand unsupported for at least five minutes. I hope he won’t, what with his uncertain legal status, but I’m sure he’ll try it just to spite me.”

“Well, see that he doesn’t.” She rummaged in her medical briefcase made of maroon leather. “I brought his potions with me. It’s critical he takes them for the next two weeks at the very least. And I want to regrow his vocal cords today. I was hesitant to do that when he was still at the hospital because he’d have to be without his voice completely for some time afterwards, and it was not the best idea with the big bad Auror outside the door, ready to snatch him to Azkaban at the moment notice.”

“I’ll take care of him,” Harry said solemnly.

Nella regarded him silently for a moment.“We’ve asked you to take care of too much already, didn’t we?”

Harry rubbed his neck, unsure what to say.“I owe Snape that much.”

With a last troubled glance at Harry’s direction, Nella rose from her seat.“Well, lead the way to the patient. I feel that now he’s lucid, he won’t be very easy to deal with.”

* * *

Apparently, Snape was very difficult to deal with indeed, or so Harry gathered since he had been kicked from the room early on. Nella spent an hour inside, and left Harry with a dozen of potion vials and dire warnings. She visited once again in the morning, making Harry privately glad he could put off facing Snape again just a little bit longer. The miserable git predictably hadn’t taken the idea of Harry helping him very well at all.

Harry had just put Teddy to sleep in his newly painted nursery when he heard the floo chime. Thinking Nella might have forgotten yet another prescription for Snape, he went downstairs, but instead of the Healer, he found the face of Kingsley Shacklebolt floating in the flames of his fireplace.

“Hello, Kingsley!”

“Harry,” Kingsley said gravely. “I heard about your little stint in St. Mungo’s yesterday.”

Well, if that’s how he wanted for the conversation to go, so be it.

“Stint?” Harry asked, feigning confusion. He didn’t intend to make it any easier than he had to for the Minister.

“Harry, why on Earth would you take Severus Snape from the hospital care? I know you didn’t see eye to eye before, so I cannot even imagine what your intentions are, but right now Severus needs peace and quiet in order to convalesce.”

Oh, that was rich.

“Peace and quiet of Azkaban?” Harry asked sarcastically.

Kingsley’s expression hardened before smoothing in that of concern.

“I don’t know what rumours you heard, but—”

“If you really didn’t intend to prosecute Snape as you promised me, I don’t see how me taking him from the hospital would be a problem. Or why you would need an Auror guarding his ward. An Auror who apparently worked for the Ministry all through the last and this year. Did he guard the cells where they kept Muggleborns without asking many questions, too?”

“I appreciate your idealism, Harry, I really do. I used to be the same way, you know. But we cannot just disband three-quarters of the Auror force who served during the You-Know-Who’s regime. Someone needs to maintain the public order.” Kingsley’s voice was gently chiding.

“But you do want to cart Snape to prison because the Ministry has to be seen doing something, am I right, Kingsley?” Harry asked venomously. He drew a breath, trying to restrain his temper. He knew that if he started shouting now, it would only validate Kingsley in talking down to him as if he was an unreasonable child in need of guidance.

“I know you changed your mind about Severus, Harry, but we cannot just forget that he killed Dumbledore.”

“Who said that?”

“What?” Kingsley stared at Harry in confusion.

“Who said that it was Snape who killed Dumbledore? Who actually pressed charges?”

Kingsley looked at Harry as if had grown a second head. “What do you mean who… It was you who said that!”

“Exactly,” Harry said. He was starting to enjoy himself. “Maybe I didn’t know what I saw. Maybe we came up with a ruse to trick Voldemort.”

Kingsley flinched at the name, but quickly recovered, schooling his distinguished features into disappointment.“It’s not how the judicial system works, Harry. You’ll need to know that if you still want to be an Auror.”

Did he want to be an Auror still? Harry decided early on he wouldn’t apply until Andromeda was better and could take good care of Teddy, and that meant saying no to both Kingsley about the Aurors and McGonagall who wanted him to return to Hogwarts to repeat his seventh year. But seeing how the Ministry wasn’t changing its stripes, Harry started doubting if he wanted to become an Auror at all. Maybe he had enough of Dark wizards after him, and it was time to try something different. Not to mention Kingsley only wanted him in the Auror training for reasons that had little to do with Harry’s own desires and well-being.

“Maybe I do, and maybe I don’t. I know which one you would prefer, Kingsley. You want me to be the Ministry’s poster boy, and you definitely don’t need my opposition if you want for your interim position as a Minister to stick,” Harry said in a tight voice. He didn’t have Hermione’s mind, but he wasn’t completely stupid either. He had seen right through Scrimgeour last year, he wasn’t going to fall for the same trap with Kingsley now.

“Are you blackmailing me?” Kingsley asked, dropping the façade of a kindly uncle.

“I just want to do what is right instead of easy.”

Anger distorted Kingsley’s face as he cut the connection.

“Did Voldemort curse this position, too?” Harry said under his breath to the direction of the fireplace.

He foolishly believed that Kingsley would sort the mess in the Ministry and he would finally be free to live his life as he wished. He was tired of fighting, and politicking was never his forte. It seemed, however, that the universe once again cared not one whit about what he wanted.

With a sigh, Harry turned to leave the drawing-room, jumping in surprise as he came face to face with Snape. The man was leaning against the doorframe in a way that Harry would call effortless if he didn’t know about Snape’s injuries. Instead of pyjamas Harry gave him, Snape was wearing overlarge black robes he found who knows where, and his expression was inscrutable.

* * *

Severus was confused. Nobody since Lily has ever stood up for him, even Albus. Oh, he made the Wizengamot drop the charges in the aftermath of the first war, but in return, he chained Severus to himself and Hogwarts with a web of debts and obligations and never let Severus forget about them. It was subtle, the expectation and judgement behind the usual twinkle of the blue eyes and benign smiles, but it was always there. Albus’s forgiveness was expertly measured out and dispensed to get what he wanted. Just enough rope to serve as a leash.

Now Potter, Potter didn’t have any reason to help him at all, let alone to go against the Minister for Magic like that. And the way he handled that conversation was positively Slytherin, however Severus was loath to admit that. He would never tell this to Potter, of course; the boy had a big enough ego already.

But by Merlin, did power get to Shacklebolt’s head. A Ravenclaw, he was always clever and ambitious, but too nearsighted for the house of the snakes. Did he seriously think that guilting Potter with a disappointed mien was a good idea? The late Headmaster was the only one who could pull it off, and Shacklebolt was certainly no Albus Dumbledore. Potter was stubborn and contrary, and that scolding was exactly the way to go if Shacklebolt wanted to make him do the opposite of what was asked. How Shacklebolt could expect to succeed as a politician if he couldn’t even figure out Potter who wore his heart on his sleeve, Severus didn’t know.

Only Severus couldn’t figure out Potter either, could he? It was just in Potter’s reckless nature to charge ahead to the rescue heedless of the consequences, but the Potter he knew would never do that for _him_. Of course, deep down, Severus realised that the boy was different from his father. More so than he was comfortable admitting.

It was easier now, after seeing Potter properly for the first time in a year. He looked less like a mirror image of James Potter now, and Severus could see the traces of Lily in his cheekbones and a curve of his lips. But mostly, those features blended and transformed, making Potter look less like both of his parents and more like his own person. Severus had avoided looking into those green eyes for years, but now that he did, he could see how different from Lily’s they were, despite the similar shape and colour. The weariness in them was not something he had ever seen in his first and dearest friend.

So, what did Potter want from him? He was surprised to see Severus there, that much was obvious. So the conversation with Kingsley was not just for Severus’s benefit. No Potter ever possessed this much cunning. But Potter seemed disinclined to humiliate him or get even for the years of tongue-lashings in the Potions classroom, not that Severus intended to let his guard down.

Oblivious to Severus musings, Potter was looking at him with his usual gormless expression. Severus was almost pleased to see it, since there was only so much change he could take, after all.

“Um, hello, Professor. I was just heading to the kitchen, d’you want a cuppa?”

And here was another inexplicable thing. Potter kept trying to _feed_ him.

Severus fully intended to refuse, but the thought of going back up the stairs was even more unpleasant than the idea of Potter’s company. Cursing Regulus Black for being a good three inches taller than him, Severus turned around in his too-long robes and gingerly headed downstairs, glaring at Potter so the boy wouldn’t attempt to prop him up again.

In the hall, Severus spotted a curious absence of Walburga Black’s portrait. In fact, there was a gaping hole in the wall where he remembered it to be. Back when the house served as the Headquarters, Severus had had a few ideas on how to remove the old harpy, but since nobody asked him, he was happy to just sit back and enjoy Black frothing at his mouth in helpless rage. He used any source of entertainment he could find that year, as those became ever scarcer as time went by. Severus would probably provide a more elegant solution to the portrait problem, but he supposed crude force would do just as well.

The kitchen looked unrecognisable. Cleaner than Severus had ever seen it before but littered with baby bottles, nappies, bright Muggle boxes and packages, and toys. On one of the freshly painted—or maybe simply scrubbed—walls, there was a Wizarding painting of the outside of Grimmauld Place done in bad Impressionist style, bold strokes and vivid colours. Severus watched a blob that might well have been a car cross the canvas before disappearing outside the frame.

“We wanted to make one of those fake windows to liven the space up a bit, but this is the best we could manage,” Potter said, noticing Severus studying the painting. “The first two looked like those etching things, and the third one was a coal drawing.”

Severus snorted. Just like Potter to get the magic wrong. Although to be fair, artificial windows were notoriously tricky to enchant. You could always order one from the Ministry and pay a monthly fee for the premium view package, but Severus would never let a Ministry official further than his doorstep if he could help it, and he suspected from the overheard conversation that Potter had enough presence of mind to be the same. Severus had to tweak a couple of spells to put up two windows in his living quarters in Hogwarts himself, but the end result was better than the cheap bureaucratic rats could ever provide. Maybe he would even teach them to Potter later if he was feeling generous.

“I’ve been making progress with the house recently. We asked Bill—Bill Weasley—to look at the curses, and we managed to blast the portrait of Sirius’s mum from the wall. Well, with the wall, really. She was yelling constantly since Teddy came to live here, and even Kreacher finally agreed she had to go. He dotes on Teddy, you know. Hermione pressures me to free him, but he is adamant about not wanting clothes, and I can’t really throw him out from his own home, can I?” Potter was babbling, obviously not knowing how to act around Severus.

After rummaging through the cupboards, Potter produced PG tips and two mugs. One had a cartoon crab on it, while the other depicted a cheery lion cub.

“It’s that or fine china from the drawing-room with gilded Black crests,” Potter said in response to Severus’s withering glare.

With a long-suffering sigh, Severus took the crabby one, pointedly ignoring Potter’s far too amused expression. Snatching PG tips from the boy’s hands, he opened one of the cupboards instead and fished out a tin of Darjeeling from the back of the bottom shelf. Maybe some decent tea would lessen the feeling that he somehow woke up in an alternate universe.

“I didn’t know we had that!” Potter exclaimed.

Severus looked at him pointedly.

“Oh, that’s actually yours, from the Order meetings, right?”

Not bothering to acknowledge that, Severus took out a teapot and splashed it with boiling water from the kettle before measuring two perfect spoonfuls of the fragrant blend. Some things should always be done properly.

Afterwards, when they were drinking tea in silence that was almost companionable, Severus wondered, not for the first time in his life, how many things could have gone differently if only he had been able to hold his bloody tongue.

* * *

In a week that followed, they fell into a sort of almost comfortable routine. When everything became too much, Severus would retreat to his room, but mostly he spent his time in the library, where Potter harassed him with his ideas about Grimmauld Place renovation. As if Severus would know anything about that.

The only thing that could make his own house at Spinners End look even remotely better was Fiendfyre. Many times throughout his life, mostly in his early years at Hogwarts, Severus took perverse pleasure in imagining setting washed-out floral curtains and dingy cupboards that still bore the marks of his father’s drunken rage aflame. Let the fire have the squeaky, creaky bed where his grandmother had lain dying for three days before his Aunt Rachel, Tobias’s older sister, generously gave it to “the young family”, the only thing beyond condescending advice they ever received from any relative, Snapes or Princes alike. Let the fire have his mother’s belongings that were all still upstairs, haphazardly packed in boxes and stuffed in the wardrobe of his boyhood bedroom. Severus avoided dealing with them for almost twenty years now. He would save his books, of course, and the enchanted record player with his old record collection, a soundtrack to his misguided youth. Yes, he would take those. Everything else was welcome to burn.

Of course, Severus could have at least tried to make the house more presentable over the years, but the only change he made was to line every wall in the living room with bookcases and to install a lab in the basement. So no, Severus wasn’t any kind of expert in home improvements. He still made his opinions known, though. Who knew what Potter would do otherwise? Probably flood the house with scarlet and gold, knocking down a couple of the structural walls and dropping the roof on their heads in the process.

Some days, he would cook dinner, or breakfast. If Potter had his way, Severus would eat mashed potatoes and watery porridge three times a day, and that was just not on. And he still wasn’t sure Kreacher hadn’t attempted to poison him that one time he’d agreed to try the blasted elf’s cooking. Although maybe persuading Potter to order his favourite Indian takeaway with mouth- and eye-watering pork vindaloo and phaal curry was a bit too adventurous for his torn throat. Healer Morris, who would visit every other day to check on him, certainly thought so.

Honestly, the woman was worse than Poppy Pomfrey. But Potter’s reaction after taking the first spicy bite was certainly worth it. And if Severus caught himself thinking about those shapely lips in an inopportune moment, he could now easily explain it with vindictive amusement.

Severus still didn’t have his voice back and had to resort to parchment and quill to communicate his displeasures. This would be infinitely easier with a wand, but Potter didn’t know where it was or if the Ministry had it. If push came to shove, he always had his mother’s wand tucked safely in one of the lockers in a cloakroom of the British Library, ten minutes away from King’s Cross. The locker also held a blank Muggle ID ready to be charmed, his twelve-months salary of a Potions Master converted into pounds, and a change of clothes.

Freedom was another thing he used to fantasise about often enough. Nothing stopped him from having it now, his enemies and taskmasters dead and gone, but the prospect of becoming a man on the run had never seemed so daunting. He wanted to put the past to rest, but he would never be able to do so while trying to escape it, not really. He didn’t, however, want Potter to go looking for his wand as the boy suggested. Severus owed him enough already. He didn’t want any more debts.

And honestly, the boy had enough on his platter already, Severus was forced to admit. Andromeda Tonks hardly stepped out of her room, always silent and vacant even when she did. So the care of her infant grandson was left on Potter alone, as if he wasn’t just out of childhood himself. Or maybe that mystical childhood that Dumbledore had wanted to preserve ended for him a long time ago. And whose fault was that? Without his hatred for Potter to brandish as an Occlumency shield and a voice to deliver the blows before the opponent could open his mouth, Severus was left to ruminate about his countless bad decisions. Curiously, Potter hadn’t blamed him for anything yet. Maybe inhaling baby powder caused selective amnesia. Whatever the reason, Severus was not going to complain.

The first days, Severus would sleep a lot, as merely walking up and down the stairs left him light-headed and out of breath. As the week wore on and he grew stronger, eager to shake off Potter’s concerned looks, he would wake up at any hour of day and night to the sounds of the baby crying. One night, however, the screams that roused him were not of Lupin’s offspring.

Severus was on his feet in a millisecond, vision slightly blurred after getting up too quickly. Looking around frantically, he grabbed a poker leant against the fireplace and crept to the corridor, careful to open the door without so much as a creak. His paranoia seemed to pay off - he had surreptitiously oiled it for that exact purpose just two days before.

Potter’s bedroom was next to his, opposite the nursery. The door was slightly ajar. Adjusting his grip on the poker, Severus peeked inside.

There was no perpetrator there, not of the visible variety, at least. In the dim light of the sconces coming from the corridor, Severus saw Potter trashing in his sheets, asleep. The boy was fully clothed, his wild hair clinging wetly to the forehead.

“No! Not him! Take me, but leave him alone!” Potter’s unintelligible murmur rose to a shout.

Not knowing what to do, Severus looked at the poker in his hands as if expecting it to have any answers. Sighing, he set it against the bed and shook Potter’s shoulder, trying to wake the boy up as gently as possible. Severus knew from his own experience that attempts to wake him up from a nightmare could leave an unfortunate sympathiser with a black eye if they were not careful. Yet another reason he always slept alone.

Potter opened his eyes, staring at Severus unseeingly. Severus waited until his ragged breath calmed down and awareness seeped back into his eyes.

“Snape?” Potter croaked. He looked around as if surprised to find himself in his own bedroom. “I’m sorry for waking you up. There are silencing charms on the door, but I must have left it open. Didn’t mean to sleep. Just wanted to lie down for a minute before checking on Teddy.”

Severus wouldn’t know what to say to that even if he was able to, although he fully intended to pen a scathing diatribe about Potter’s senseless martyr tendencies in the morning. Instead, he poured some water from the crystal pitcher on the bedside table and thrust the glass into Potter’s hands.

“Thanks,” Potter said between big desperate gulps.

Suddenly, he jumped to his feet and left the room, barefoot but purposeful. Severus followed him to the nursery, where young Teddy was, for once, sound asleep. Gripping the rails of the crib, Potter stared into the small face framed with wisps of brown hair, eyebrows drawn together.

“I have this new dream,” Potter said, his voice barely more than a whisper. “Where Teddy gets taken from me. I would do anything to keep him safe. Break into Gringotts or the Ministry again. Die again.”

Severus filed all these things Potter supposedly did already for later.

“Anything,” Potter repeated with conviction. “I’ll keep him safe, but at the same time, I can’t keep him, you know? He isn’t mine. When I first approached Andromeda, she freaked out because she thought I was going to take him from her. And now I think I’ve done just that, taken the only reason she had for carrying on. What do I do with her? With Teddy? I don’t know anything about being a pa—caring for a child, other than those books Hermione gave me. How can I be a proper godfather for him? The Dursleys weren’t exactly great role models.”

Waving his hand, Severus summoned his parchment and a self-inkling quill, a feat of wandless magic he was only capable of when his annoyance with Potter reached supreme levels. He scribbled a couple of lines furiously before shoving the parchment to Potter.

_Stop that. You are doing an acceptable job. Does Andromeda Tonks in her present state strike you as someone who can take care of an infant? She needs to take care of herself first._

Seeing how Potter started to protest, he wrote,

_She is NOT your responsibility. For that matter, I am not your responsibility either. Your Saviour status, as that rag likes to call you nowadays, truly got to your head, Potter, if you think that you are the one who has to solve all the other people’s problems. I’ve long been calling you out on your arrogance, but this is a new level of presumption even for you._

Potter stared at him, bugged-eyed. Pleased with the effect, Severus added,

_ Now go to sleep. _

At that moment, Teddy began to stir, his face scrunching. Potter took a step to the crib right away, but Severus glared and waved him away, taking the baby gingerly. Judging by the smell, the reason for waking up was obvious. Severus immediately regretted his magnanimity and contemplated handing the baby to Potter after all.

“Do you even know how to change a nappy?” Potter asked sceptically.

Severus, in fact, did not. All the same, Potter’s doubt in his abilities was insulting. Severus held his breath and got down to work.

* * *

Severus Snape was not meant for silence. Harry observed in fascination as remarks on everything he did were bursting inside the man, unspilled words threatening to boil over. Instead, Snape left endless grocery lists that had everything down to spices Harry had never even heard before (Aunt Petunia preferred her food as English and bland as possible) and filled the furniture catalogues Hermione had brought before going to Australia with mocking commentary in familiar spiky scrawl. Nothing even remotely red or gold was safe. One evening, a harassed owl delivered a Potions journal, and from the way corrections cramped its margins, Harry suspected that the staff would soon receive a scathing editorial.

Perhaps unsurprisingly, Snape was a rather good cook, his love for criminally hot dishes aside. And after the “nightmare incident”, as Harry called it the next morning when he tried to apologise again and was promptly shut down, Snape started to help with Teddy as well. He obviously didn’t have any idea from which end to approach a baby, but, as always, resented any insinuations that he was anything less than a “fucking Marry Poppins”, as he called himself once, probably thinking that Harry wouldn’t be able to read his lips. Harry didn’t know what was weirder, to hear—or, in this case, to see—his former Potions Professor swear, or the fact that Snape knew who Marry Poppins even was.

Since Harry himself didn’t know anything about babies less than two months ago, he wasn’t going to throw any stones. Instead, he left all Hermione’s books on the kitchen table, before Snape decided to look for childcare tips in the library. Harry had already leafed through some of the books there and now understood the reasons for the infamous lack of sanity in the Black family a bit better.

All in all, it was terribly domestic. Snape even temporary shed his robes in favour of jeans one memorable evening (Harry’s own ones, brand new, bought on the shopping trip with Hermione that started as getting clothes and other essentials for Teddy). To Harry’s surprise, they needed only a little adjusting.

Apparently all that time, Snape had been wearing Regulus’s robes, which weren’t a good fit for him at all, especially when attempting to bathe Teddy. Harry felt faintly guilty for not noticing sooner, but he was so accustomed to seeing Snape in voluminous robes that these didn’t look much different.

Snape in a T-shirt (black, of course) and jeans, however, was a revelation. It turned out that the man had an arse. This fact probably shouldn’t have come as a shock, since everybody had one, but for some reason Harry kept darting glances at it all the same as Snape was handling slippery, wailing Teddy with surgical precision. Imagining what Ron would say to Harry checking out the Dungeon Bat’s posterior, Harry decided not to dwell on the reasons for his interest too much.

“You should have said something about the robes. Life would be much easier if you simply told me about those things, you know. I mean... wrote about them,” Harry said afterwards when they were sitting exhausted and wet at the kitchen table.

Snape only glared at him, not even deigning to pen a reply. Harry had to concede that the proud git’s behaviour was understandable.

“I get it. I wouldn’t ask either if I were in your shoes,” Harry said at last. He himself learned very early not to ask for anything. “But I want you to be comfortable here. I really do.”

The glare intensified. Finally, Snape took the quill.

_Why? Why all of this?_

Harry didn’t pretend to misunderstand the question, although he didn’t have a definite answer.

“Because it’s the right thing to do? Because after everything you’ve done, you deserve better? You are a decent person when you’re not insulting me constantly, and I want to help you.”

_I don’t need your **charity**._

The last word was written with such a force that Harry was surprised the quill didn’t pierce the parchment.

“It’s not charity,” he said, puncturing his words with an aborted hand gesture. “We’ve been through too much together. Or maybe not together, not always, but we fought for a common goal. You saved my life, so there is that. I don’t think I have thanked you for it yet. But it’s not only gratitude. I really think that we can be friends.” Harry flushed, ducking his head pushing his glasses farther up his nose. He couldn’t believe he was telling all those things to Severus Snape. “And friends help each other.”

Snape stared at him as though the chicken on the cutting board he was going to stuff with rice later suddenly leapt to life and sang a chorus of _A Cauldron Full Of Hot Strong Love_. Harry was sure his ears have never felt so hot.

 _You know nothing about me, _Snape wrote, writing spikier than ever before.

Harry suspected that he knew a great deal more about Snape than most people but wisely decided not to mention it. Brave didn’t mean suicidal.

“But I’d like to get to know you,” he said instead. “If you let me.”

After a pause that felt hours long, even though in reality it lasted probably no more than a couple of seconds, Snape wrote,  _Very well. Let’s start by you chopping those onions for the chicken._

* * *

 “Let’s get rid of that hideous wallpaper in the drawing-room,” Harry said one evening.

Snape looked up from the books fanned around the table, raising an eyebrow.

“C’mon, even you have to admit that adders and daggers are a bit much. And it’s all discoloured and peeling anyway. The new couch deserves better.”

Harry decided to finally use the furniture catalogue and replace a decrepit ottoman that had a nasty habit to kick out its legs whenever anybody tried to sit on it. After living in Grimmauld Place for several months, Harry could swear that sounds coming from the drawing-room every full moon were the fault of the wretched thing, but he never dared to actually come inside for the fear of what he might find. If it turned out something Kreacher was doing, Harry reckoned he might have been better off not knowing.

_You’ve ordered that orange monstrosity after all?_

Even the letters on Snape’s parchment seemed to drip with distaste. Still, Harry agreed not to buy the red one, so he considered it a compromise.

“Terracotta,” Harry said, repeating the word from the catalogue with a huge grin. Ron was definitely going to love it.

 _I shudder to think what colour you’ll choose for the walls instead,_ Snape wrote. He stood up anyway.

Harry levitated the furniture to the middle of the room, upsetting another nest of dead doxies behind the cabinet. He thought he got rid of them all, but evidently not. Behind the mirror over the mantelpiece, they found a niche with a skull and some parchments inside. Harry felt a sudden urge to take the skull and have a closer look, but Snape snatched the wand from his hands, waving it frantically before he even made the first step. Judging by Snape’s scowl and silent cursing, non-verbal spells with a borrowed wand didn’t quite work as he wanted them to, but it was enough to break the compulsion.

Watching Snape casting with precise and slightly exaggerated movements and a look of intense concentration on his face, eyes ablaze, Harry was reminded of an opera conductor he had once seen on TV before Aunt Petunia switched the channel. Magic was another thing Snape wasn’t meant to go without. Harry vowed to look into the whereabouts of Snape’s wand as soon as possible.

The skull turned into dust with a piercing shriek, making Harry jump. Snape grabbed the parchments and leafed through them, snorting incredulously. Then he turned to Harry and thrust the wand back at him, but pocketed the parchments with a half-smirk on his thin lips. Realising he was staring, Harry felt his cheeks getting warmer.

Thankfully, Andromeda chose this moment to appear and save Harry from embarrassment.

With a grim expression on her face, she marched to the opposite wall and torn the first strip of the wallpaper forcefully.

Harry and Snape watched helplessly as she clawed at the walls with fierce determination. There were some more hiding places underneath, including a box with some suspicious-looking eggs fit snugly into the masonry and a wizard-space alcove near the window housing a skeleton with patches of tangled auburn hair. The skeleton came to life and stepped out as soon as it was revealed, reaching out to Andromeda. Snape made an abortive motion to grab Harry’s wand again, but before they could do anything, she punched it in the skull, dislodging it from the neck and making the hair fly in all directions, then pulled out her own wand and pulverised the thing with a shriek of rage. It was the first time Harry saw her use magic since she moved into Grimmauld Place. Harry didn’t recognise the non-verbal spell she cast, but Snape looked faintly impressed.

She went on and on, using her wand for the places that were too high for her to reach, but otherwise tearing the wallpaper by hand. Soon, not a patch was left. Andromeda stood there in the pile of discarded green, brown and silver shreds for a moment before collapsing into the armchair, all the fight having left her.

Not knowing how to act, Harry took a couple of hesitant steps to her. He couldn’t help but look at the other man in a silent plea, even though if there ever was somebody more inept at comforting people than him, it was definitely Severus ‘I-Enjoy-Making-First-Years-Cry’ Snape.

Consoling turned out to be unnecessary, because Andromeda raised her head and met Harry’s eyes with a warning glare. She sat taller before standing up with surprising grace and leaving the room without a word.

Harry wondered if she had her throat spelt with silence too before shaking his head with a faint feeling of guilt. Hermione suggested more than once to find a Mind Healer for Andromeda, and she was probably right. But Andromeda was yet another painfully proud person in this house, and Harry didn’t think she would take kindly to the idea, especially from a boy that was a stranger to her just a few months ago. Of course, Hermione also talked about a Mind Healer for Harry himself, but it was another matter altogether.

Meanwhile, Kreacher appeared in the middle of the room. He sent a brief concerned glance at the direction of the door before starting sobbing and wringing his hands.

“The drawing room is being destroyed! Oh, my Mistress’s pride and joy, oh, how she would cry if she saw what Master’s been doing—” The elf looked around in despair before burying his head in his hands.

“Calm down, Kreacher, nothing is being destroyed. The wallpaper had to go, it was way past its prime anyway. And I’ve bought a new couch instead of that backless one, you know it’s gone wild and it’s bloody uncomfortable to sit on without proper armrests or a back,” Harry said, almost grateful for the distraction.

“Only the wallpaper and Mistress Cassiopea’s priceless ottoman?” Kreacher peeked at Harry from between his fingers.

“Yes, Kreacher. I thought we can paint the walls in some nice shade to go with an ora—distinguished terracotta couch. In fact, you can help us choose the colour. Which would you like?”

“Masters asks Kreacher for his _opinion_?” Kreacher spat the last word like it was the greatest insult Harry could come up with.

“Yes, Kreacher. It’s your home as much as anybody’s, hell, it was your home long before we came here, so you should have a say in it.”

Kreacher looked at Harry like he lost his mind, and disappeared with a loud pop. The next morning, however, all the furniture except for the ottoman was back in its place, and the walls were painted with emerald green. Snape seemed to be highly pleased and amused, and Harry supposed he could live with that.

* * *

The couch was delivered the next day, just as Potter had said. What he didn’t say, however, was that it would come in several packages and boxes, standing proudly on the porch. Although judging by dropping of Potter’s jaw, it was a surprise for him as well. The movers solicitously offered to bring everything inside and help with assembling for an additional price, but since they were Muggles, it was obviously out of the question.

A trying hour later, and Severus began having second thoughts about that. After all, _Obliviate_ and _Confundus_ existed for a reason. Surely, the sheer malignancy of making unsuspecting people put together this blight on humanity and common sense counted as extenuating circumstances when breaking the Statute of Secrecy.

Before succumbing to the bottle for good, Tobias Snape used to be quite a handyman. He would help his factory mates and later drinking buddies and often took Severus with him, at least until the accidental magic kicked in and there was no denying that Severus was a wizard. Those were the moments that made a six-year-old inside Severus traitorously miss his Da, although they usually stayed buried deeply under years worth of bitter memories of degradation and abuse.

From those early years, Severus had a vague understanding of necessary tools, even though he hasn’t held a screwdriver in his hands since he was old enough to use magic outside Hogwarts. But the couch came with a loadful of small parts, and Severus couldn’t even begin to understand the purpose of half of those.

“Look, here’s an instruction manual,” Potter said, producing a piece of glossy paper.

Severus snatched it and stared at minimalist pictures with arrows that clarified absolutely nothing, all six of them. He felt a headache forming in his left temple, like the drill they didn’t have.

“You are doing it wrong,” a strange hoarse voice said suddenly, making them both jump.

Wand in hand, Andromeda Tonks circled the disjointed parts of the couch in the middle of the room. Gathering all the small fittings and accessories with one sweeping gesture, she examined them with a slight frown on her face. She still wore the same black robes, but her hair was clean and done in an intricate—if a bit messy—diagonal braid Severus had seen Narcissa wearing at the Manor on occasion.

“Ted had a woodworking shop. Chests and trunks, and some furniture too. He used to do most of the work by hand. It drove me crazy those first years. I even modified some spells to help him, but he had no use for them mostly. Said that it was more satisfying the Muggle way, that magic makes it too easy sometimes to really appreciate the fruits of your labour. It was one of the few points we always disagreed upon,” Andromeda said conversationally, as if this wasn’t the first time she let any words spill from her mouth in all the time Severus had been here at Grimmauld Place.

With a complicated pattern of her wand, screws began to drill themselves into the couch’s underbelly, rotating at a blurring speed. Severus raised his eyebrows. He recognised the original spells indeed.

To Severus’s irritation, the couch was done in less than ten minutes. Not to be outdone, he took Potter’s wand to add some protective, waterproofing and dust repelling spells he usually used on the surfaces in his potions lab. Some of them might have been overkill, but nothing short of noxious acid or Fiendfyre would damage the offending piece of furniture now.

Potter flopped on the couch with a laugh. Severus realised that he had not seen the boy this unreservedly happy and carefree since his arrival at Grimmauld. Even when Potter played with his godson, there was always an undercurrent of sadness Severus noticed clearly now it was gone. Not to mention that never before had Potter smiled like that at _him_. Severus’s presence alone used to be enough to bring a scowl to that face. Startled, Severus caught himself almost smiling back, but righted himself quickly.

Suddenly, the floo flared to life, and Nella Morris’s face appeared in the green flames.

“Nice couch,” she smirked. “Oh, hi, Mrs. Tonks. Nice to see you up and about finally. Harry, I need you to step through to _The Haven_. Severus, I’ll come to Grimmauld after I’ve finished with the... situation here to remove the bindings on your throat, so you can start preparing all the insults you’ve been dying to say already.”

“Should I get changed?” Potter asked, taking off his glasses and wiping them with the bottom of his T-faded shirt that has definitely seen better days. Severus thought he could remember Potter wearing it in his fifth year, and it hadn’t been faring better then. How could he ever seriously consider Potter vain about his looks was now beyond him. Not that the snide comment wasn’t on the tip of his tongue. After all these years, it was almost a reflex.

“It’s fi—On second thought, please do,” Nella said, taking in the hole in the sleeve.

After a short trip upstairs, Potter returned in a decent shirt and jeans that fit him much better than his usual oversized ones. Severus looked him over appreciatively when Potter stopped at the mantelpiece to take a pinch of floo powder. Somewhere along the line, the boy became a fine young man indeed. Suddenly, Potter turned around and Severus hurriedly shifted his gaze. He heard Andromeda cough, or at least that was how he chose to interpret the sound. He did not know what possessed him to ogle Potter like that and in the end, resolved to blame this minute madness on Nagini’s venom going to his brain. Clearly, his war-time celibate streak had been going for too long.

“Teddy—” Potter started.

“Harry, go. I’ll take care of my grandson.”

When Potter still hesitated, Andromeda added, “You know I haven’t been all there since… since. And you’ve been doing a great job with Teddy. I remember how hard it was after Dora was born just a couple of months after my graduation, and I had the whole support system in Ted and his family. And Teddy isn’t even your responsibility, isn’t your child.”

Potter flinched.

“I didn’t mean it like that, Harry,” Andromeda said softly. “I want you in Teddy’s life, in whatever capacity you choose. Heavens know he needs somebody besides a grandmother who cannot keep it together on her best days.”

“I’m glad you’re getting better.”

“For your and Teddy’s sake, I hope I really am.” Andromeda shook her head slightly. “Thank you, Harry.”

Sending her a hesitant smile, Potter finally stepped into the fireplace.

Turning to Andromeda, Severus was met with an intense, calculating glare. This was familiar intensity, present in all Black sisters, even if Narcissa was always too concerned with courtesy and decorum to ever stare so openly, and Bellatrix did not bother to look at people for long before measuring their value against her Lord’s cause.

“Harry is a good person,” she finally said, as if daring him to disagree. When he didn’t, she repeated, “Harry is a good person, better than you or me. Ready to help other people, even if they don’t deserve it. And no need to glare at me like that, I mean myself and the wizarding world as a whole, not you specifically. Although if you feel that the shoe fits...“

Severus raised an eyebrow, waiting for her to get to the point.

“For such a beloved national hero, Harry has alarmingly few people in his corner, and none able to provide any kind of support he actually needs. He has his two little friends, but they are a young couple and have their own problems. I’m a mess, as you can surely see. Kingsley is desperate to use him. McGonagall sent a letter. Molly Weasley came by once. Tried to convince him that he is unfit to take care of a child and needs adult supervision, then almost fainted after seeing me and never set foot here again. She was the one who killed Bella, you know,” Andromeda elaborated at Severus’s silent question, her face and voice impassive.

For a person who had spent so much time willingly silent, she talked entirely too much. Not that she said anything that wasn’t true, of course. And that last piece of information was rather startling. He was always slightly apprehensive around Molly with her mothering and forceful nature, but did not expect something like that.

“So, I sincerely hope you are not going to run away as soon as you are healed,” Andromeda finished suddenly in a steel voice.

Well, that was the opposite of what Severus expected her to say. After his best sneer did nothing to make her look away, he took his parchment and scribbled,

_I hardly think Potter needs the likes of me around._

“You hardly think, that much is obvious,” Andromeda replied and left the room, leaving Severus seething at her audacity. If anything, that was _his_ line.

* * *

There were still a couple of hours before the first witches and wizards would trickle to _The Haven_ , but even this early in the afternoon, it wasn’t completely empty. Stepping out of the fireplace on the second level, Harry was greeted with a grunt and a nod from Janus, the familiar tattoo artist who was now working on the back of a man even bigger than himself.

Over Harry’s head, Dean was up in the air on a broom, putting enchantments on the giant Hogwarts crest made of silvery-white stars against the dark blue ceiling. The lion roared silently and the snake was coiling and uncoiling.

Down on the first level, a girl was arranging the bottles in the bar with lazy flicks of her wand, bobbing her head along to the music in her big headphones and completely ignoring the man sleeping at the counter. Harry couldn’t see his face, but the red hair was instantly recognisable.

“George?”

“He’s been here almost every night lately, like clockwork.” Nella met Harry downstairs, deftly sidestepping a floating bucket and a mop scrubbing the floor by itself.

“Oh?” Harry watched George with concern. He hadn’t seen him since Fred’s funeral, although before going to Australia, Ron mentioned that George was getting better, or at least well enough to return to his flat above the shop. Evidently, this wasn’t such a good thing after all.

“He used to get roaring drunk, but recently I suspect he’s moved on to some potions.” Nella pursed her lips.

“What kind of potions?”

“Based on his behaviour, I would hazard a guess and say Euphoria Elixir.”

“He’s not dealing with Fred’s death well. They were twins, pretty much two halves of one whole,” Harry said with an all too familiar lump in his throat.

“No, he isn’t. But Harry, Euphoria Elixir is incredibly addictive and has many side-effects. Not to mention that overdose could make him a permanent resident of the Janus Thickey’s ward.”

Harry looked at Nella, alarmed.

“I know you have a lot on your plate already, but I didn’t know who else to contact. I know you’re a friend of the family—”

“No, no, you were right to get me. I’ll get him to the Burrow.” Harry moved to wake George up.

“He needs a good detox first,” Nella said after a brief moment of hesitation. “To flush the potion out of his system.”

“Oh. Should I contact St. Mungo’s? I’m not their favourite person right now.”

“St. Mungo’s can do it, of course, but it would be splashed all over the Prophet by the evening. A good potioneer to supply necessary potions and supervise would be enough.” Nella looked at Harry meaningfully.

“I don’t know if Snape is well enough for brewing.” And if he would actually agree to do it.

“Nonsense, of course, he is. In fact, it would do the Professor some good, he’s been getting antsy.”

Trying to bring George round resulted only in mumbled “Lemme go!” and a half-hearted wave of the hand, so Harry had to cast Mobilicorpus and levitate his largely unconscious body upstairs to the fireplace. Before Harry could take the floo powder from a hopping gnome-shaped jar, however, Nella put her hand on his arm.

“Don’t take this task on yourself as well. Contact his parents.”

Harry nodded, although the idea of breaking Molly’s heart even further made his chest constrict painfully.

Once on the other side of the fireplace, Harry hesitated before leaving George afloat.

“Am I a bad person for not wanting him on my new couch?” He murmured. George _smelled_.

Nella snorted.

“Put him in a room with minimal furniture and no sharp things. In fact, if there is a dungeon, which I wouldn’t put past the Blacks to have even in a townhouse, get a bed there and use it.”

“There’s a dungeon, but we haven’t got to clearing it yet. But I have another idea.”

While Nella went to see Snape, Harry hauled George to the master bedroom where Sirius used to keep Buckbeak. Together with Kreacher, they managed to clean it and get rid of the smell, but to the house elf’s dismay and Harry’s secret satisfaction, the furniture was not salvageable. Now though, he found a solitary bed standing in the middle of the room.

“The blood traitor should know better than to indulge in potions like a common mudblood. What a horrible, horrible example for the young Master,” Kreacher muttered under his breath, appearing at Harry’s side. With a snap of his fingers, the smell disappeared, and George’s clothes looked instantly fresher.

“Thank you, Kreacher.” Grateful for the help, Harry ignored the slur this once and hid the smile at Kreacher’s protectiveness. At three months, Teddy was unlikely to catch bad habits from George, not that the house-elf would care about such small details.

Just as Harry settled George, who now tossed and turned in fitful sleep, he heard footsteps.

“Foolish boy,” the familiar voice rasped behind him.

“You’ve got your voice back already!” Harry turned to face Snape with a smile, which promptly fell again as he glanced at George’s prone form.

“I wrote a list of ingredients you’ll have to owl order from Mr. Mullpepper’s and I’ll need a wand for brewing,” Snape said in a no-nonsense tone, striding to the bed and checking George’s pocket. He retrieved George’s wand, some sickles and knuts, a crumpled photo of the twins smiling and waving at the camera in front of the newly-opened Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes, and a half-empty vial of bright yellow potion. Handing everything else to Harry, he uncorked the vial and put it to his considerable nose.

“Euphoria Elixir. Too much wormwood, so he shouldn’t wake up for another couple of hours at least.” Snape’s expression was carefully blank, the way it hadn’t been for some time already. “I’ll have to take a sample of his blood, but I can say already that Mr. Weasley has a long and unpleasant recovery ahead of him.”

“Thank you, Se—Snape.” Harry flushed. Where did the urge to call Snape by his first name come from?

Snape shot him an unreadable glance and turned back to George.

“I understand the desire for oblivion and self-destruction all too well,” he said finally, his tone betraying nothing. “Now, don’t just stay there, the sooner you get those ingredients, the sooner I can get started.”

“Ingredients, right.” Harry rushed to the door, but Snape stopped him again.

“Potter. You can call me Severus if you wish.”

“Oh.” Harry sent him a pleased smile, feeling his cheeks redden again. “Thank you. And I’m Harry. I mean… Well, you know what I mean.” Ducking his head to avoid seeing Sna—Severus looking at him with the familiar ‘Potter-you-imbecile’ expression, he finally left the room.

* * *

George regained consciousness just when Harry finished putting Teddy to bed, waking the baby up again with his loud demands for his wand. Forcefully pushing Harry back to the nursery, Severus shut himself in with George in old Walburga’s room for two hours. First, there was shouting, cursing and loud crashes, which later gave way to murmured conversation and muffled sobs. Severus’s face was ashen and pinched when he left the room, but George agreed to take the necessary potions and suffer the detoxification process voluntarily.

“The next 48 hours will be the most difficult. Mr. Weasley will run a fever, have panic attacks and seizures. Probably hallucinations as well. After the fever breaks, I’ll be able to alleviate some of the worst withdrawal symptoms, but the actual recovery may take months, during which he mustn’t be allowed near alcohol or potions,” Severus explained to Mr. Weasley and Ginny after Harry contacted the Burrow later that evening.

“I knew we shouldn’t let him go back to living alone,” Mr. Weasley murmured, looking older than Harry had ever seen him.

“No, definitely no access to the lab. The cravings will be bad, so don’t let him out of your sight for the next month and don’t fall for his tricks when he inevitably attempts to go to that shop of his for any reason he cooks up. Brewers are the most dangerous addicts,” Severus added with a dark look.

Watching him carefully, Harry wondered if Severus had a personal experience with trying to douse grief with potions, but now was not the time to ask personal questions. He found himself hoping that one day, that time would come. This feeling had little to do with curiosity, and much more with fierce protectiveness towards Severus which took Harry by surprise and which Severus himself was hardly going to appreciate.

Dragging his gaze away from Severus, Harry met Ginny’s eyes, who had been mostly silent so far. She was looking at him with a strange expression, twisting a lock of fiery hair around her finger in a familiar unconscious gesture.

“Did George brew the potion himself?” Mr. Weasley asked, breaking Harry out of his musings.

“Apparently, yes. It’s extremely dangerous since perception and concentration are compromised while under the influence of the Elixir. That concentration of wormwood could have easily sent him into a coma.” Severus’s voice was brusque but not unkind. Harry felt proud of his unexpected patience despite the coarseness that started seeping back in his voice, and then guilty because Severus clearly strained himself far too much today for a man who just got that voice back.

Mr. Weasley gasped, worry clouding his face anew.

“Thank you, Severus,” he said. “We’ll take him to the Burrow right now.”

“Haven’t you heard me, man?” Severus interrupted with an annoyed expression. “He’ll need my constant supervisor for at least two days. Then you can take him, after I deem him fit to go.”

“I’ve always known you’re a good man, Severus.” Mr. Weasley gave him a watery but earnest smile. “And you, Harry. Thank you both again.”

Ginny lingered behind even though her father left shortly after. As soon as Mr. Weasley’s back disappear in the green flames, Severus’s mood seemed to drop to the freezing point, and he glared alternatively at Harry and Ginny as if they were back in his classroom. Harry supposed there was only so much human interaction Severus was able to take, and today was way past that limit.

“Both Mr. Weasley and Teddy require peace and quiet, so do avoid making a racket with your sweet reunion,” he spat before turning on his heels and leaving the room. The effect was slightly spoiled by breaking his purposeful stride to lean against the doorframe, and Harry was at his side right away.

“You alright, Severus?”

“Quite, Mr. Potter. Don’t let me detain you,” Severus said in a clipped tone.

“It’s been a long day, you should rest. You’ve overexerted yourself too much as it is.”

“Such concern.” Severus sneered. “As I told you already, you are not my mother. Now shoo.”

With that, he pulled away from the doorframe and went to the stairs in measured steps. Harry watched him go with concern.

“What a charmer,” Ginny said after a moment of silence. “How did he even end up living here?”

That was all the opening Harry needed to launch into a heated explanation of Severus’s situation, incensed once again at the Ministry and Kingsley.

“Snape’s not that bad,” he finished.

“Oh?”

“Yeah. And he helps with Teddy a great deal, even though he obviously knew nothing about babies at first.” Harry was on the roll again. “In fact, he’s been kind of nice, if you can believe that. Maybe that’s because he didn’t have his voice back until today. Now he can finally start dissecting me for my many wrongdoings, I know he’s been dying to.” He let out a self-deprecating laugh.

“Right.”

Once again, Ginny was looking at him with a peculiar look on her face. Well, Harry would be the last person to expect himself to gush over Severus Snape until this last month, even after he learned about the man’s true loyalties, but here he was. Harry rubbed the back of his neck self-consciously.

“Anyway, what about you? I haven’t seen you since—” Since the funerals.

“I’ve been in a Harpies’ bootcamp.” She hesitated. “Don’t tell Mum and Dad yet, but they offered me a contract for the next year. Reserve, but one of their new chasers is a total dud, and probably won’t last for very much longer, so.”

“That’s great, Ginny!” Harry exclaimed, putting his hand over hers. “But what about Hogwarts?”

“Are you going back?”

Harry frowned. “No. It would be too weird to sit on the lessons as if nothing has happened. I don’t think I have it in me to worry about homework and house points again.”

Ginny looked at their joined hands thoughtfully, carding their fingers together.

“Yeah, you’re right. Too weird.” She looked up at him suddenly, her eyes bright. “We’re never getting back together, are we?”

“What?” Harry looked at her, startled. It was true, he hadn’t thought about her much, if at all, over the last few months, more months than he cared to admit, actually. But he always assumed they would get back together at some point, start a family, have their happily ever after. Now, however, looking at Ginny, fierce, loyal, beautiful Ginny, he realised that he didn’t want to kiss her at all, that even though he still loved her dearly, he wasn’t in love with her anymore. Maybe he never had been.

Denial died on his lips, and Ginny took away her hand gently, sadly.

“We’re still going to be friends, right?” Harry’s voice sounded pathetic even to his own ears.

“Of course we are, Harry. You won’t be getting rid of us Weasleys that easily.” She shook her head, standing up. “You aren’t looking for easy ways in life, that’s for certain.”

With that last cryptic comment, she stepped into the fireplace and let it take her away.

* * *

For the next couple of days, Severus had been in an increasingly foul mood. He tried to tell himself that it was the memories of the summer after Lily’s death he had long ago buried under the layers of shame and Occlumency, the summer he spent in Minerva’s cottage without his wand or dignity, but helping George Weasley through a similar struggle in an odd way helped him banish some of those old ghosts. He did not think of this boy lying in front of him in a heap of blankets in the middle of the summer, teeth chattering, as weak for seeking respite in potions. Rather, he understood the all-consuming anguish driving a person to bad decisions all too well.

No, his thoughts time and again returned to another inhabitant of the house. He had taken to avoiding Potter by spending his time between the Weasley’s room and this makeshift lab. Severus was no stranger to lying to himself, but this time he was fully aware of the direction his thoughts had taken, and no amount of berating himself for being a pathetic old queen pining for someone unattainable once again seemed to help. A boy half his age, a boy who—in another life—could have been his own son. Whatever that barmy woman thought, Harry didn’t need such a travesty in his life, and the sooner Severus could leave, the better. Now that Potter reconnected with his girlfriend and Andromeda was doing better, he wouldn’t be alone.

But who was he kidding, Andromeda could well turn back catatonic at any moment. He knew better than most that recovery wasn’t smooth or linear and could take years or remain a distant dream forever.

And the Weasley girl was a child who wanted her hero in the shiny armour. What did she know about Harry’s struggles? As always, the boy needed looking after, and as always, there wasn’t anybody else for the job. A snide voice in Severus’s head supplied that he himself hadn’t had high opinions of Potter’s struggles until recently and often very much had been a reason for them. Severus squashed that voice ruthlessly.

Severus was roused from his musings by their object, who was standing in the doorway and looking inside curiously.

“I haven’t realised the lab was so small, sorry. I only peeked in here briefly once when we were cleaning.”

The cramped space was converted from a dusty closet Black had been so generous to provide for making some of the more sensitive Order potions Severus couldn’t brew at home or at Hogwarts. Mostly that translated to Lupin’s Wolfsbane, but the mutt still acted like he was owed a Life Debt for letting Severus use it.

“Typical.” Severus snorted.

“You should organise yourself a lab in another room if you want, there are a lot of those.”

“I don’t expect to make potions here for much longer. I’ve trespassed on your hospitality long enough.”

“You can live here as long as you want!” Potter looked alarmed for some reason. “In fact, I like that you... I’d very much like you here. You’ve been a great... roommate so far.”

“Have I?” Severus raised his eyebrow. “So you like me most when I’m sick and silent? Not that I expected anything else from you, Potter.”

“It’s not what I—Oh, you know what, you got what I meant.”

Severus did, but putting colour at those cheeks was much more amusing. This had been his favourite sport in the past as well, but then Potter flushed with anger and not in response to his teasing. How the mighty have fallen.

“Is there a reason for your visit?”

“Actually, yes.” Potter brightened again. “I came to get you for dinner. You’ve been worse than Andromeda these past few days.”

“As you can see, I’m in the middle of the brewing.” Severus nodded at the simmering cauldron.

“That’s Pepper-Up.”

“So you’re a Potions expert now?” Severus raised an eyebrow.

“Nah, give me some credit. I’m bad, but not that bad. Does George need it?”

“Not really, but who knows what might happen. Your stock is awfully depleted.”

Potter sent him a bright smile. Severus wasn’t sure when exactly he started warranting those.

“Well, guess what, I’ve ordered Indian, and Andromeda apparently has a similar taste for mouth-burning food, the heathen. So unless you want to miss on all the best bits, you should put a Stasis Charm on that.” He offered Severus his wand, handle first.

“A wizard doesn’t just give his wand to anybody,” Severus grumbled. The magic in the dark wood rose to his bidding, heady and warm, so very different from his own. Unlike George Weasley’s temperamental wand that didn’t let him do anything not brewing-related, Potter’s wand seemed to work fine, although Severus could bet it would behave quite differently if taken uninvited.

“You’re not just anybody,” Harry said, and although Severus knew the boy didn’t mean anything by that, his heart beat a little bit faster. He hated himself for it.

“I hope there’s curry.”

In the kitchen, Andromeda was rummaging through the cupboards and laying the table, and Severus had an absurd desire to snap at her. He could not stand other people touching and rearranging his belongings, and when had he come to see the Grimmauld kitchen as his own territory? Just one more reason to move out of here as soon as possible.

Teddy was there as well, smiling slightly in his sleep, his hair peaceful blue. There was a new toy at his side, a neon-orange plastic badger. Severus hid a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.

“You haven’t left your list, so now you’ll have to do with what I chose.” Potter nodded at the grocery bags in the corner.

“I’m sure I’ll manage. What did you buy that took you this many bags?”

“I also got some more baby stuff. I now know all the mothers in the nearby park—which, believe me, wasn’t my idea—and they have _suggestions_. They’re downright scary.” Potter shuddered, although Severus knew how much he loved buying things for Teddy. The nursery was overflowing with toys and baby clothes, and the less that was said about the abomination that was _lion onesies_ , the better.

There was a lull in conversation while everybody was eating. Potter dipped naan in the sauce, licking his fingers with gusto, and Andromeda meticulously cut food on her plate as if she was at one of her sister’s dinner parties. The silence was warm and comfortable, so naturally, Severus just had to break it.

“So Arthur’s coming for Mr. Weasley tomorrow, if I understand it correctly?”

“Actually, they decided that George will stay at Shell Cottage, at least for a while, so it’s going to be Bill,” Potter said, swallowing his food.

“Oh?”

“Yes, Fleur offered Mr. and Mrs. Weasley to stay at her parent’s summer house in France for a week, to get away from England and all that. These plans were put on hold, of course, what with George’s... condition, but Bill persuaded them to go ahead anyway.”

“A wise decision,” Andromeda offered. “I’m really grateful for you, Harry, for getting me away from my house. With every single thing reminding me of... them, I would go completely insane there. Even if it pains me to impose on you like that.”

Potter protested loudly.

“Don’t speak with your mouth full,” Andromeda shushed him. “You’re too selfless for your own good, but I’m not above taking you on your offer, and it’s not only for Teddy’s sake. Madness runs in our family, too much inbreeding, I suppose. I don’t care to find out what face will it take with me. Do you think Aunt Walburga was always the woman you knew from that painting?”

“She used to be _normal_?” Potter asked in shock. That was news for Severus as well.

“She was never anything less than a deeply unpleasant, cruel and judgemental cow, prejudiced and absolutely convinced of her superiority, but she wasn’t the shrieking harpy mindlessly spewing insults that you saw. If only because it would be indecorous. But I suppose spending half a decade shut in a mausoleum full of ghosts does things to you.”

Severus wasn’t sure he’d go that far as to start feeling sorry for Walburga bloody Black, but what Andromeda said rang oddly true. With startling clarity, Severus realised that he would never return to Hogwarts to teach even if they had to drag him there, even though he vaguely considered it despite himself after receiving a formally-worded inquiry from Minerva to resume his old position as a Potions Master a couple of days ago. Some ghosts were long overdue for exorcising.

“We’re going to get rid of the mausoleum feeling soon. I think we’re making real progress.”

“You are doing a great job.” Andromeda smiled at him indulgently.

Potter beamed. “Anyway, Bill will come for George tomorrow morning, since the Burrow is completely empty,” he said, returning back to the point.

“Completely empty? What about Miss Weasley?” Severus found himself asking before he could bite his tongue.

“Oh, she’s in Wales, training with the Harpies. Can you believe it, they've already signed her up!”

“She won’t go back to finish her schooling?” Severus asked, surprised. The wench was determined to sink her claws into Potter by whatever means necessary, it seemed. “Although I suppose it would be easier for you to meet with your girlfriend like that.” He couldn’t quite keep poison out of his voice. Potter was far too used to hearing that tone by now to notice anything amiss, but Andromeda sent him a mocking glance.

“Oh no, we aren’t dating anymore. We broke up for good the other day, not that we actually got back together before that in the first place.”

Severus didn’t trust himself with a response that would not be insulting or incriminating, so he put on a suitably sympathetic face instead. Since he wasn’t actually used to feeling sympathy let alone showing it, he probably just looked constipated.

“First loves rarely turn into something lasting,” Andromeda said, managing to sound neutral instead of patronising. “I remember fancying myself madly in love with Stubby Boardman when I was in the fifth year, and he was a year older.”

“The singer from _The Hobgoblins_?” Severus couldn’t help but feel a bit curious.

“The one and only. Wrote me love songs and played the guitar to me on the Astronomy Tower.

“What happened?” Potter asked.

“I spent the summer before my sixth year helping Father at the Ministry, and he spent it singing all those songs he wrote for me to other girls. I was heartbroken.”

“Oh, sorry.”

“Don’t be. I turned his head into a turnip and got over him sooner than McGonagall managed to revert it back. Then I started dating Ted, and that was something different. Something real.” Andromeda closed her eyes for a moment and then suddenly stood up. “Please excuse me.”

Potter sighed, looking at the kitchen door where she had just disappeared.

* * *

“You want this so much, don’t you, Harry?” The voice was dark like sin, sensual and smooth over Harry’s ear. Suddenly, Severus dropped to his knees, taking Harry in his mouth, never taking his dark hooded eyes off Harry’s face.

With a jolt, Harry woke up, erection straining his pyjama pants. This happened a lot this week, his subconscious deciding to declare open war and plaguing him with wet dreams starring Severus. And if Harry was completely honest with himself, they started even earlier, much earlier than he was comfortable admitting.

Conceding defeat, Harry almost furtively snuck his hand under the sheets. It didn’t take much for him to come; he only had to remember the way dream Severus looked with his lips stretched around his cock. How in Merlin’s name could he look Severus in the eyes without remembering that vivid image, Harry had no idea.

He wished he missed his ex-girlfriend. But truth to be told, Ginny had never inspired such dreams in him even when they were actively dating, and nor did any other girl. He chalked it to Voldemort messing with his head and his life at the time, but in hindsight, the answer was much simpler. And infinitely more complicated, especially given the subject of his current… fixation.

With a sigh of frustration, Harry trudged to the shower and spent half an hour there, stalling. When he finally left to face the music, the house greeted him with the enticing aroma coming from the kitchen. Quickly checking on Teddy, Harry followed his nose downstairs.

Inside, Severus was standing over a standard mid-sized cauldron set on the stove, whisking the creamy contents rapidly. With his other hand, he gave an occasional stir to a much smaller cauldron with what seemed to be melted chocolate. His robes were nowhere to be seen, and he rolled up his sleeves, exposing wiry forearms and faded scars that used to be the Dark Mark. On the table, there were rows of hollow pastry shells, golden and smelling divine.

Mesmerised by the sight of long fingers deftly handling the whisk, Harry didn’t know how long he just stood there until Severus put out the fire under the cauldrons and turned to him.

“I didn’t know you remembered the date.” Harry smiled at him bashfully. “Thank you, Severus.”

“I’ve always wanted to try my hand at éclairs. Deciding to make them today of all days is merely a coincidence, I assure you.” Severus’s cheeks were slightly pink. “Happy Birthday, Potter.”

“He absolutely refused to make a cake, but this is even better.” Andromeda appeared behind Harry’s back, aiming at the pastry tray which Severus promptly snatched out of her reach.

“My first real birthday present was a cake, you know. Hagrid gave it to me when he came to that hut in the middle of the sea to hand me my Hogwarts letter.”

“There are so many things wrong with this statement.” Andromeda looked at him strangely.

“And then Mrs. Weasley would send me a bunch of goodies for my birthday to get by with the Dursleys. Those were always my favourites.” But his relatives weren’t the topic he wanted to dwell on today. In fact, he would be perfectly happy to never spare a thought for them again. “You making this means a lot to me, more than you probably realise.”

“Yes, well.” Severus turned away from him to give a perfunctory stir to the chocolate in the small cauldron which Harry was sure didn’t need it. “In that case, you can assist me with filling them up. Under my strict supervision.”

Harry beamed at him and got to work.

Just this once, Andromeda insisted on bringing the éclairs to the drawing-room, where Kreacher had already prepared a set of the finest Black china on a crisp white table cloth. Harry didn’t have the heart to tell him he would much rather sip from his usual mug with a cartoon lion cub and eat from the plate on his lap, especially first thing in the morning. Andromeda and Severus would probably find that appalling, anyway.

After the breakfast, Andromeda produced a battered copy of The Tales of Beedle the Bard and handed it solemnly.

“I’ve been thinking about what to give to you, Harry. I know you have a whole pile of parcels from well-wishers in the attic, and today it will probably double.”

“Most of those are from people who want me to endorse their products.” Harry reddened and rubbed his neck. “And at least a third are cursed.”

“You have many things, but few of what you really need. That’s why I decided to give you this book that’s been the most prized possession of the Black family for many generations. It would be of much more use to you than it is to me now.”

To Harry’s left, Severus sucked his breath. “Is that—” He started, but then cut himself off.

“I’ll take good care of it, I promise,” Harry said, drawing his finger along the smooth leather spine. The book was thin and frayed but felt quite heavy in his hands. “I’ll read Teddy from it when he’s a little older.”

“I sincerely hope not, at least not until he’s well of age and has the necessary level of responsibility.” Andromeda chuckled.

Harry looked at her in confusion.

“Open it,” she prompted.

He opened the book at random, but instead of the Tale of Three Brothers or Babbity-Rabbity, the page read ‘ _Hepzibah Smith (1803-1956)’_. What followed was a detailed biography written in several different hand-writings including lurid descriptions of her apparently wild youth and theories about her death, with the name Tom Riddle written on the margin with a question mark underneath.

“The Black Book. All the information you need about wizarding families of the British Isles and beyond, although blackmail material is mostly outdated now. I know you aren’t interested in politics, but politics will always be interested in you. You’ll need all the weapons you can get with all the sharks around you.”

 “I—Thank you, Andromeda,” Harry thumbed through the book, which apparently had many more pages than its appearance would suggest.

“Lucius was frantic when they weren’t able to find it after your father’s death. The first time the Dark Lord used Cruciatus on him.”

“If I wasn’t reasonably sure he didn’t have anything to do with Father’s demise, his boss’s wrath would be the least of his problems.” The glint in Andromeda’s eyes made Harry shiver. She obviously had more in common with her sister than just appearance.

“I thought you didn’t get on with your family,” Severus said carefully. He evidently came to similar conclusions.

“I didn’t. Father never forgave me for choosing Ted. I was always his favourite, you see. He was moulding me to take his place as a Minister for Magic one day, and here I was, marrying a Muggle-born out of school. He never said a word to me after that.” Andromeda’s hand clenched into a fist. “But he sent the book to me anyway on his deathbed. Didn’t have a choice, since everybody in the family was firmly under You-Know-Who’s thrall by that point, and Father was always very vocal about his dislike of him.”

“Cygnus Black opposed the Dark Lord?” Severus asked in surprise.

“A Black doesn’t bow to anybody, let alone some half-blood upstart, he would say. His illness just before he was to be re-elected and then early death was always very suspicious to me, but I hadn’t been in contact with the family for years by that point.” She shook her head. “But this is a story for another time, I believe. Don’t let me ruin your birthday with the tales of old.”

Harry assured Andromeda that he would treat the book with the utmost care and ran off to his room to put it away on the bottom of his school trunk alongside his Invisibility Cloak, the Elder Wand, the Marauder’s Map, a shard of Sirius’s mirror and a fanged wallet Hagrid had given him for his birthday a couple of years ago. Twirling the wallet in his hands for a bit until it snapped at him menacingly, Harry decided that some better protection for his belongings was long overdue.

When he returned to the living room, he found a Ministry owl sitting on the mantelpiece. As soon as the bird saw Harry, it dove straight to him and dropped the package it had in its claws before swooping straight to the window and clicking its beak impatiently to be let out.

“Wretched thing,” Severus had to duck out of the owl’s way.

“It came through the floo.” Andromeda looked at the fireplace in concern.

“Only Kingsley can contact me that way.” Maybe he should have blocked him too after their last conversation. “Well, also Mr. Weasley, but he wouldn’t send me official missives.”

Tearing the package open, Harry revealed a scroll of parchment and a wand inside. The wand was made of some reddish-brown wood and hummed with heavy but not entirely unpleasant magic.

In two strides, Severus was at his side, snatching the wand. “This is mine,” he hissed. “What’s that?”

Harry, who had just broken the seal on the scroll, scanned at the parchment for a moment and then handed it to Severus too. “It’s a full pardon,” he said.

Severus stared at the parchment for a long time, face pale and drawn, with a grip on the wand that was making his fingers go white. Carefully putting it aside, he conjured a crystal goblet, raised it to eye level, turning it so the sun would reflect off the intricate engraving, and then hurled into the fireplace with a snarl.

Harry jumped up a bit.

“Hold your horses.” Andromeda winced.

If only he was alone when he received that, Harry thought bitterly. He thought he understood why Severus would find this gesture deeply offensive.

“Kingsley is a right twat to do it like that. But at the end of the day, you got your wand and your freedom back, and that’s the only thing that matters, right?” He asked carefully.

“He gave my life and magic to you as a _birthday_ _present_. Threw it as a bargaining chip, as a bone.” Severus spat. “I’m so fucking tired of this!”

Another goblet joined the first one in the fireplace, shards flying around, before Severus stormed out of the room, pardon and wand in his hand. Harry started to follow him, but Andromeda put her hand on his arm.

“Let him cool off a little. I understand his frustration, but this is the most positive outcome he could expect, and he’ll realise it soon.”

“But Severus is so proud. If at least… Kingsley did it on purpose!”

“Undoubtedly. He needs you more than you need him, but that doesn’t mean he couldn’t be petty about it.”

“I’m not going to do what he wants me to do.”

“As well you shouldn’t. That man will be fortunate enough to stay in office past this Christmas with the way he’s alienating his allies.”

Before Harry could decide what to do, the floo flared to life.

“Surprise!”

“Hello there, birthday boy!”

“Ow! Why’s there so much glass in here?”

“Hullo, Mrs. Tonks!”

“Nice couch! Now that’s my colour of choice!”

Ron and Hermione tumbled out of the fireplace, smiling and looking much healthier than a month ago. Ron was hopping on one leg trying to get rid of the shard in his trainer while Hermione went straight to hugging Harry.

“Hi, guys! I didn’t know you’re coming home already. How’s Australia?” Harry’s smile at seeing his friend was genuine, but Hermione knew him far too well.

“Everything’s great, Mum and Dad will come home in a couple of weeks. Now spill, what’s with the long face? What happened here while we were running all around Perth?”

Harry rubbed his neck, trying to find the words to even start when there was the sound of steps on the stairs. He rushed to the hallway.

“Severus?”

Severus stood in front of him ramrod straight, glancing behind his back to where Hermione and Ron must have been gawking at the scene.

“I’m grateful for your hospitality and help with my recovery, Mr. Potter, but it’s high time for me to leave.”

“But—” Harry’s stomach sunk. He frantically tried to find the right words, but words had always been Severus’s speciality. “You don’t have to, you are welcome to stay for however long you want! In fact, I’d like you to... Where will you go?”

“I have my own house, you know,” Severus said, sounding less stiff, a mixture of annoyed and amused.

“You will visit, though, won’t you? Teddy loves you!” Harry sounded desperate even to his own ears.

“I suppose I can drop by sometimes, check if you haven’t run into your usual trouble. Although I cannot imagine you aren’t sick of my company yet.”

“Of course I’m not! We’re friends, remember?” _We’re friends, and I want us to be more. Please don’t leave_. Harry made an abortive gesture with his hand but didn’t dare put it on Severus’s arm. He then wondered briefly when he managed to come up so close to Severus for this to be even possible.

“If you say so.” Severus glanced away. “Goodbye, Harry.”

Not waiting for Harry’s reply, he turned away to the door. Harry watched it for a long moment after it closed behind Severus back.

“Fuck!” Harry swore and punched the wall.

“What was that about?” Ron was gaping at him from the entryway, and Hermione wore her best ‘We’re concerned about Harry’ expression.

Sighing, Harry returned to the living room and began explaining. When he finally finished and raised his eyes from his lap, his friends were staring at him even more strangely than before.

“You know we support you no matter what, Harry?” Hermione started hesitantly.

“Yeah, but does it necessarily have to be Snape?” Ron’s voice was half incredulous, half disgusted.

“We support Harry no matter what,” Hermione repeated forcefully, just as Harry launched into a tirade. “Didn’t you hear what I’d just said, Ron? Severus did so much in the war! He saved your brother! And he was really different all these weeks. He’s really more than a mean teacher if you’d just give him a chance. He certainly doesn’t deserve the treatment he’s got after the war, Kingsley is a right arse!”

“I hear you, mate.” Ron looked pained. “I hear you very well.”

“We aren’t protesting Snape’s... virtues,” Hermione started.

“Well, I certainly am!”

“And we can all agree that Kingsley was obviously in the wrong here. We’re just concerned that Snape is, well, not the nicest man, not to mention twice your age. And then there’s your mother—” Hermione trailed off.

Harry looked at her in confusion. “What are you talking about? You sound like I’m in love with him or something.” He let out a nervous laugh.

“Aren’t you?” Hermione looked at him shrewdly.

“I—Why would you even think that?”

“Mate, believe me, it’s obvious. It has to be if even I noticed.”

“Well, you got it wrong.” Harry had to look away from the pity in their faces. ”And even if there was something here—which there isn’t—Severus would never feel the same,” He winced at the last statement, in part because of how true it was, and in part because he as good as confirmed to his friends that they were right.

“I wouldn’t be so sure of that,” Andromeda spoke up for the first time during the conversation. “He was watching you just as much as you were watching him when you thought the other wouldn’t notice.”

“You think so?” Harry perked up but then returned to sulking again. “He was probably just waiting for me to do something stupid or reckless—or couldn’t believe I wasn’t doing anything stupid or reckless.”

“Sounds like the Snape we know,” Ron said, biting into the éclair. “Good stuff.”

“Severus made them for me today.”

“Really?” Ron choked, looking at the pastry as if it was going to squirt Bubotuber pus in his face.

“We really came at a bad time, didn’t we?” Hermione mused. “Snape was angry and hurt at the way Kingsley handled his pardon, and then we arrived before you could talk to him, so he decided you don’t need him here anymore.”

“But I do!” Harry cried, then promptly shut his mouth.

Hermione sat closer to him on the couch and put her hand over his. “Then go and explain that to him.”

“What if he tells me to go to hell?” Harry asked in a small voice.

“Then at least you’ll know for sure and won’t waste your time on pointless pining.”

“I can’t believe I’m encouraging you in this, mate, but Hermione is right. Send us a Patronus if Snape hexes you too hard, though.”

“Thank you, guys.” After some hesitation, Harry turned to Hermione for a brief hug, and Ron clapped him on the shoulder. Andromeda looked amused, watching them from her armchair and sipping her tea.

“There are presents, of course, but they’ll wait until we have to cheer you up after chatting up Snape.” Ron stood up. “We’ll go visit Bill and Fleur, see how George’s doing. Floo us there or else we’ll visit you tomorrow.”

“But aren’t you staying here? I thought we decided that you would.”

Ron and Hermione shared a glance.

“We’ll talk about this later,” Hermione said. “For now, Ron and I will have to prepare my house for when Mum and Dad arrive, so we’ll stay there probably.”

It was their way to give him their blessing, Harry realised, even though Ron looked a little bit green on the edges. But they would give him space or be there for him if all this went tits up, and his heart swelled in his chest. Truly, his friends were the best.

* * *

Gentrification had been creeping up on Cokeworth for a while, but Spinners End held strong, the last bastion of ugliness and decay. The stink of the river was especially strong in the summer heat, but Severus paid it no mind, long desensitised to the surroundings. He appeared at the edge of the street and strode past the houses in various stages of dilapidation he had long trained himself to avoid looking at.

When he came to where his own house should have been, however, he couldn’t help but looked around, making sure it was indeed the right address. Instead of the run-down two-story cottage he spent his childhood in, there was a patch of blackened, scorched land, with a single charred wall standing amongst the ruins. The remains of the ingredient cabinet that had been warded fireproof extra thoroughly were peeking out of the ashes, but other than that, nothing seemed to have survived.

Severus staggered backwards before cautiously coming closer and grabbing a handful of ashes. Suddenly, he heard steps behind his back and jumped back up, wand at the ready. But it was simply Mrs. Freeman, one of the few remaining residents of the neighbourhood. She used to be called the _Old Woman of Spinners End_ back when Severus had been a child. Now she was positively ancient.

“Bad business,” she said loudly. “Burned in one night about a week ago, strongest and quickest fire I’ve ever seen. They couldn’t put it out until some funny government people showed up, said there were chemicals inside.”

Chemicals, indeed. Fiendfyre—and it was undoubtedly it—did not need any fuel, although he did have some of the more... hazardous ingredients inside. The dragon’s blood alone certainly did not help.

“They were asking ‘bout you, laddy,” she continued. Severus looked at her, startled; he hadn’t thought she recognised him or even remembered who he was still.

“What did you say?”

“I know nothin’.” She bared her bad teeth for a moment. “Haven’t seen you around for a while anyway.”

Severus nodded absentmindedly and she turned away, dragging her feet to her own house, a plastic bag in her hand. Once again, he was alone with the ashes. He slid down the remaining wall and sat on the ground where there used to be his little herb garden. Perhaps it was for the better that all of this went in flames. There were definitely some books and artefacts the Ministry would frown upon, so maybe he was fortunate a nameless ill-wisher and not Kingsley’s Aurors had gotten here first. And then again, didn’t he use to fantasise about burning this place to the ground?

Most of his valuable books were at Hogwarts, together with clothes and most other everyday possessions, if Minerva hadn’t decided to burn them as well, of course. There was no value except sentimental in his mother’s favourite old coat that resembled a witch’s cloak enough for his father to loathe it, in that Bowie record Lily had given him for his birthday in that damned fifth year, in the old wardrobe he had helped his father repair. He was simply a fool clinging to his past, as if there was something worth clinging to.

Shivering, Severus waved his wand. “Expecto Patronum!”

But instead of the gentle doe he expected, his trusty source of perverse consolation and guilt, silvery mist coalesced into a short-maned lion that regarded Severus curiously with his head tilted to the side.

Severus snorted helplessly and then broke into a fit of hysterical laughter. His life truly was one big cosmic joke.

“Go away!” He waved at the idiotic creature. “Get back to wherever the hell you came from!”

With the last benevolent stare and a regal nod, the lion turned away and disappeared. Severus resolved to never summon his Patronus again, no matter how many Dementors surrounded him.

He didn’t know how long he just sat there, eyes closed. He opened them only when he heard footsteps approach him again, so very different from Mrs. Freeman’s shuffling gait, and a shadow shielded him from the scorching sunlight.

Potter was looking around, face scrunched in concern. Of course, it was Potter. Who else would there be?

“Severus? What happened?” He asked dumbly.

“Somebody decided to express their displeasure with my person, obviously.”

“But how... Why... Did you call the Aurors?”

Severus sent him a withering glare.

“Yeah, right, bad suggestion. But we need to do something!”

“There’s nothing to be done. Good riddance, I’d say. Most of my possessions are in Hogwarts anyway,” he said with confidence he didn’t feel. “How did you find me?”

Potter plopped beside him, right in the middle of a pile of cinders. Severus stifled an urge to scold him for it. After all, he was sitting on the same pile as well.

“I apparated to the play park. I remember it from your memories.”

“What?” Severus swung round to face him. “Those were decades old! What if it was rebuilt or simply didn’t exist anymore? What if there was a concrete wall at the place you apparated to? That was idiotic and reckless even for you, Potter!”

Potter just shrugged, picking at his jeans. He then flushed, clearly hesitating over something. Severus wondered what it could be. Potter had never shied away from saying the first thing that came to his mind before.

“There was a... a Patronus waiting at the park. He led me here,” Potter said defiantly, looking at Severus from under his fringe.

Blasted beast, he knew it would only bring trouble. Severus recoiled, trying to get up, but Potter got a hold of his hand, stopping him, and carded their fingers together.

“What are you doing?” Severus hissed.

“Please come home, Severus.”

“I’m not your charity case, I told you already!” Severus tried to snatch his hand, but Potter held fast. Or maybe he just wasn’t trying hard enough.

“And I’ve told you it’s not charity.” The boy set his jaw stubbornly. “At first I thought that I just wanted to be your friend, but then I realised I wanted more than that. Ron and Hermione saw through me right away.”

“You told your friends? Did they test you for Imperius? Amortentia? Dragged to the Janus Thickey’s Ward?”

“They were very supportive.” Potter grinned.

“I didn’t know the insanity was catching.”

“I don’t want to pressure you into anything, don’t think it’s a condition for you to come back. If you want to just remain friends or take it slow, I’ll wait for however long you need.”

“How noble of you,” Severus sneered. Then he lunged at Potter and captured his lips in a bruising kiss. He more than half-expected Potter to back out, but the boy all but melted into him and responded in kind, sheer enthusiasm making up for the lack of technique. Severus nipped familiar guilt rising in his chest in the bud. If Potter was fool enough to offer, he wasn’t stupid enough to refuse. There surely would be plenty of time for bitter regrets later.

They sat there by the wall and exchanged kisses until the sun moved in the sky and the shadows grew longer. Severus suddenly realised how dirty they had to be sitting on this burnt spot like this, became acutely aware of the smell of burning lingering in the air. He stood up and extended his hand.

“I believe you’ve mentioned a house?”

“A home,” Harry corrected, his lips puffy, his eyes bright.

* * *

Later that night, Harry snuck into Severus’s bedroom. He was wearing his usual pyjamas, the ones that weren’t red and gold, although now that he thought of it, they still were a rather poor choice for seduction. Not that he knew anything about that. When they returned to Grimmauld, Harry discovered a neat stack of Muggle and Wizarding books in his bedroom Hermione had sent to him. Red-faced, he bravely skimmed through some of them, trying his damnedest not to imagine Hermione and Ron— _oh God, Ron—_ buying them earlier that day. Although, knowing his clever friend, she could have had them for a while waiting for Harry to sort himself out. She always had those kinds of insights, or maybe he himself was that oblivious. But in the end, the books just made him more nervous. He had always preferred a hands-on approach, anyway.

Severus looked up from the Potions journal he had been reading and sat up on his bed. His dark hair, now reaching past his shoulders, was slightly damp, and he was wearing a forest-green bathrobe Harry hadn’t seen before. It revealed the healing scars Nagini left on Severus’s throat and a bit of his pale chest with a smattering of sparse black hair. The sleeves were rolled up again, and Harry was starting to suspect that he was developing a rather embarrassing hand fetish. Clearly, Severus knew more about looking sexy than him, however improbable that thought would appear to Harry a mere couple of months ago.

“I’ve put Teddy to sleep and finally scrubbed the smoke from my body, but that T-shirt is ruined completely. I see you too—” Harry trailed off. _What in Merlin’s name was he blathering about?_ Even his inner voice now sounded suspiciously Snapeish. Deciding that action was his strongest suit, Harry came up to Severus with confidence he didn’t feel and straddled his lap, snatching the journal away.

“So you’re determined to go through with this insanity, I see.” Severus’s hands came up to encircle him and gently stroked his back.

Instead of answering with words, since those had only ever got them in trouble, Harry brought their lips together. It wasn’t a perfect kiss; he was probably too eager and clumsy and their teeth clunked together, but he had never been turned on more in his life. At the feeling of Severus’s tongue invading his mouth and tangling with his own, Harry moaned helplessly and bucked against Severus, delighted to find the answering hardness.

Severus tugged at his pyjama top, and it took a couple of moments for Harry to process what was asked of him, because Severus’s lips were exploring his neck now, making his brain turn to mush. When the meaning finally registered, he took the top off impatiently, allowing Severus better access. Then Severus’s mouth latched to his nipple and oh God, he had no idea how sensitive those were.

After a moment there, Severus flipped them, and Harry suddenly found himself on his back in Severus’s bed, with Severus himself lying on top of him. Harry decided he rather liked this position. He reached out to undo the bathrobe belt, but Severus intercepted his hand to bring it to his lips and kiss the wrist where the pulse beat madly.

“Please?” Harry bit his lip and pushed his other hand inside the bathrobe, exploring the firm body. Severus was all hardness and sharp angles, and this excited Harry far more than Ginny’s softness and curves ever could.

Severus nodded with only minute hesitation. He took the glasses off Harry’s nose and put them carefully on the bedside table.

“I can see just fine without them this close.” Harry smiled. “You’re really hot.”

“You’re delusional,” Severus snorted, but let Harry pull the bathrobe off. Before Harry look closely, however, Severus dove back, kissing lower, lower, lower down his body.

“I’ve dreamt about you. About this,” Harry breathed.

“Oh? Did you dream about this?” Severus trailed his mouth along the dark hair going from his navel down. “Or this?” He kissed his inner thigh, urging him to spread his legs wider, and Harry happily complied. “Or this?” Severus ran his tongue from the root up to the head of his cock. Harry trashed, bucking up, and Severus chuckled. Finally putting Harry out of his misery, he took the cock in his mouth. One of Severus’s hands rested on Harry’s hipbone, not quite stopping his helpless thrusts, while the other caressed his balls before venturing even further.

“Severus!” Harry cried when a deft finger circled his hole and came with a gasp. “I’m sorry.” He flushed.

“Don’t be.” Severus swallowed and wiped the corner of his mouth with a long index finger before licking it clean. Harry’s spent cock gave a valiant twitch.

“Are you going to—” Harry flushed even harder, but Severus seemed to understand him.

“No, not today.” He shook his head.

“Oh.” Harry felt an equal measure of relief and disappointment. “Why not?”

“Harry, have you ever been with a man before?”

“Um. No. But I tried putting my fingers there once. You know, inside.” Harry glance away, embarrassed. The less was said about his sixth-year experiments and a certain Potions book that played a crucial role in them, the better.

Severus’s lips twitched, but his voice was gentle. “I thought so. You’ll enjoy it much more when you’re ready. Until then, there are plenty of other things we can do. We have time, right?” He suddenly looked uncertain.

“All the time of our lives.” Harry beamed. Severus nodded, looking doubtful, and Harry resolved to prove him wrong. But for now, he reached to kiss Severus, tasting himself in his mouth. “What do you want me to do?” He whispered in Severus’s ear, putting his hand on the other man’s hard cock and giving it an experimental squeeze.

“Yes, Harry, just like that.” Severus’s breath hitched. The angle was unusual, but Harry was quickly getting the hang of it. He looked down, taking in Severus’s not inconsiderable length that disappeared in his fist. The head was already glistening with pre-come in the muted candlelight, and Harry groaned at the sight, rubbing against Severus involuntarily. He was fully hard again.

“Oh, the perks of having a younger lover.” Severus chuckled again, a deep throaty sound, and reached for his wand underneath the pillow. He conjured some viscous liquid in his palm and brought their cocks and hands together.

“Oh God, oh Merlin.” Harry captured Severus’s lips in an open-mouthed kiss. When they broke apart, Severus’s breath was as laboured as his own, and he was looking at Harry with a greedy and intense expression that made him shiver and come for the second time. With an abortive moan, Severus followed suit.

Afterwards, Harry curled against Severus, trailing unnamed symbols on his chest. He wondered briefly if etiquette required him to return to his own room, but he was never good at following rules. Severus put a blanket over them, dispelling Harry’s doubts and making him sigh contentedly.

“That was brilliant.” Suddenly, a horrible thought came to him. “Severus?”

“Hmm?”

“It’s not about Mum, is it?”

“This is the most idiotic thing I heard from you, and that’s saying a lot,” Severus said, turning to face Harry. Sighing, he elaborated. “For the longest time, I fancied myself in love with her, because it was easier to love an unattainable woman then deal with my attraction to men. In retrospect, my feelings were never romantic. Lily embodied everything I never had: kindness, beauty, popularity. Selflessness. I loved her very much and probably put on a pedestal the real her could never live up to being merely human—make no mistakes, your mother was not without her flaws—but I never desired her like a woman. Never desired any woman, if fact.”

“Oh.” Harry breathed, relieved. Not that he truly believed Severus would be with him because of his mother, but it was nice to hear the confirmation. “I don’t like girls like that either,” he confessed.

Severus carded his fingers through Harry’s hair.

“‘t’s nice,” he mumbled sleepily. “Sexy hands.”

“Go to sleep, Harry.”

Smiling into Severus’s chest, Harry drifted into unconsciousness. 

* * *

 

_Two Years Later_

“Hello, love,” Harry pecked Severus on the lips and attempted to dip his finger into the chocolate icing before receiving a mild stinging hex. “Ow! Why is it that Teddy can have some and not me?”

Teddy was there at the kitchen table as well, bouncing and smiling at him toothily with the chocolate-covered mouth. Harry laughed and kissed the top of his head, bright orange today.

“Because one of you is a toddler, and the other is a grown-up, although I’m not exactly sure which is which.” Belying his words, Severus watched the two of them indulgently.

“I’ll show you later today just how grown-up I am.” Harry waggled his eyebrows suggestively. “Éclairs?”

“It’s a tradition.” Severus shrugged. “I’m sure Molly will insist on coming with the whole Weasley brood and bringing you your cake.”

“I love those éclairs. And don’t tell Molly that, but I prefer your baking, even with all those mad spices and chilli pepper in cupcakes. You need to bake more often than twice a year.”

Severus harrumphed, but looked visibly pleased. “Then it would lose its lustre. How was your meeting?”

“Great!” Harry brightened “Adoption went through finally. Andromeda stayed behind to finalise the papers, and Nella popped by to explain the parents about that new kids version of the Wolfsbane of yours. She understands the details much better than me.”

“Is this the first time a werewolf child is adopted?”

“Yeah.” Harry’s face clouded. “Well, Frankie is basically living at the Browns’ on holidays, but he’s at Hogwarts most of the year, and Lavender’s herself... People are still so prejudiced.”

“It’s a big responsibility, raising a child with lycanthropy. Not everybody’s up to that.”

“Yes, everybody wants them healthy and young. Do you know what one b—witch told me recently? Apparently, toddlers are too old and untrainable already, she needed a baby. Untrainable, can you believe that! As if I’d let her within a hexing range of any of our kids after that!” Harry hugged Teddy possessively, making the toddler laugh. Severus knew how seriously Harry took his job. After the war, there were a lot of orphans, and he took it upon himself to do his best to give them a happy childhood.

“Has Kingsley finally agreed to raise werewolf quotas for Hogwarts?”

“In fact, he did, _on the occasion of my birthday_.” Harry made a face. Severus sneered as well. There were a lot of things he could say about the Minister’s birthday presents, all of them inappropriate for the two-year old’s ears. “I’ll still have to do an interview in the Prophet, though.”

“Do you think it’s wise, after the last time?”

“No private questions this time.” Harry winced. “But Hedwig Foundation does need exposure. And Kingsley is truly insufferable. The man still thinks I decided to be gay and fell for you just to spite him.”

“How can I be sure this wasn’t the reason?”

“Oh, you can be _so_ sure...” Harry hugged Severus from behind and mouthed his neck.

“Oi, Snape, Harrykins, shout if you are doing anything unmentionable on the kitchen table again because we’re coming through!”

Without waiting for a reply, George and Ron tumbled into the kitchen carrying a package in Gryffindor colours. A seven-foot-tall, shaking and rattling package. In Gryffindor colours. This was going to be a long, long day.

“Since you liked this one best—” The red and gold wrapping peeled off at the tap of Ron’s wand, revealing a giant cartoony blast-ended skrewt in a green dress suit and a red top hat waving its stingers robotically and sending coloured sparks from its rear. It was one of the several figures created specifically for the grand opening of a Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes branch in Hogsmeade, a smashing success. Severus really thought Dean Thomas’s taste in art improved since his Hogwarts days of doodling silly creatures on the margins of his homework, but apparently, that was too much to expect from Gryffindors.

“Wow!” Teddy climbed down from his chair and ran to the monstrosity, watching it in awe and clapping his hand excitedly. “Daddies, look!”

Severus groaned. There was no chance he could just quietly vanish the thing now. He also suspected Harry wouldn’t approve of murdering his friends on his birthday, but the thought was very tempting indeed.

Bouncing past Severus, George slipped another, much smaller package in his pocket.

“Is this it?” Severus muttered while Harry was busy hoisting Teddy up so he could touch a party cracker the skrewt was holding in one of his upper stingers.

George winked salaciously. “I’m sure Harry will be _very_ pleased.”

Severus glared a bit for the sake of appearance and fended off another attack on éclairs, but his day seemed to be looking up again. Maybe their friends weren’t all that bad, horrible taste in presents notwithstanding.

Severus looked at Harry again. Two years later, and he still could not believe that this incredible man would want to share his life with him, that he would have a child in his home calling them both “Daddy”, that he would have this home at all instead of a bleak house full of the ghosts of the past. There were fights, of course, especially in the beginning when they learned that tiptoeing around each other’s irritating habits and trying to hold their tongues completely would only make them finally blow up in a truly spectacular fashion. Their first big fight started when Severus just couldn’t stand finding the toothpaste uncapped on the washbasin anymore, and escalated from there. The wardrobe in the bedroom still had a dent reminding about that particular day. Severus knew he ticked Harry off just as much sometimes with his crabbiness, jealousy and inability to bite back hurtful words, but somehow, they worked. There was a small box in the back of his socks drawer, and maybe today he would finally find a nerve to give it to Harry.

“You’re just a big softy inside, aren’t you, Sevvy?” George snickered, interrupting his musings.

No, Severus decided resolutely, sending a testicle itching hex in his direction and inciting even more laughter. Murder it was. 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Severus with random toddlers seems to be a running theme in my fics for whatever reason, and I think I'm fine with that.
> 
> Thanks for reading!


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